


Legal Hurricane

by Abnegation



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Love, M/M, Plot Twists, Sex, Thriller, Trials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:28:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25727446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abnegation/pseuds/Abnegation
Summary: Raquel, a psychology professor, and a mysterious man with a past in shambles named ’Salva’ are caught up as jurors in a huge corporate trial, which involves manipulation and bribery of powerful lawyers from both parties to secure a verdict—igniting secrets buried in the past and a love affair underneath that puts all of them at risk.This is not your typical lawful love story.All legal occurrences are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual cases, events, people, and companies is purely coincidental.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Denver | Daniel Ramos/Mónica Gaztambide, Nairobi | Ágata Jiménez & Tokyo | Silene Oliveira, Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 51
Kudos: 107





	1. Sequestration: A Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It’s me, the author of “So It Had Come To This” coming back with a new fanfiction piece. 
> 
> I’ve been reading John Grisham’s courtroom thrillers and I’ve come up with a story that has the same theme for adrenaline junkies. I am apologizing in advance for the law protocols that I have altered just for the flow of the storyline, but they had been followed so far. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a glimpse of what happened before the jury got sequestered (this is a legal measure that takes a jury pool into protective custody or isolation from the public as to avoid the influence of the outside world to interfere since the jury is an essential factor to the process of making the verdict). In common law jurisdictions, the jury is sworn body of random civilians that are assembled to set a judgement or penalty.
> 
> Raquel's emotional state and Salva's mysterious nature are disclosed.

_**DAY 0** _

_**OCTOBER 27, 2019** _

_**6:30 EASTERN TIME** _

  
  


Three-hundred twenty hours of anticipation. Now, there he was. 

Salvador thought of how the past two weeks had been ruthless to him as he scanned his tousled apartment for a July 15 issue of _Sports Weekly_ —a distractive prop he had to come to the courthouse with. Despite having spontaneous and compulsive solicitations to keep the orderliness of what he had considered home for two months, he still had to shuffle through the couch that was cluttered with a bottle of vodka, a scarf, few issues of the daily newspaper, a pair of coats, and a piece of Raquel Murillo's undergarment God knows where the hell it came from until his fogged memory remembered last night's jury escapade when they made the most out of the last hours of their transient freedom—in secret, of course. 

But he didn't even have the time to contemplate where the hell she had gone or why she had left her brassiere like a souvenir, for he still had to pack up some of his belongings in a rush. It was his deep derangement not to be prepared for the part of the jury service he had anticipated the most: sequestration. From the cabinet, he pulled out neatly-folded pajamas and suits, some underwear, a few books that were neutral to the case he was handling, toiletries, and other things he might need in isolation. They were all contained in a couple of gym bags that he lugged by the door.

He lingered in the shower for a little while, beads of water imperceptibly passing his bare skin. _It's time,_ he thought to himself amidst millions of expectations running in circles around his head. As he went out of the bathroom, he suddenly remembered he had some boxes to stall in a trezor vault in the kitchen. By 7:30, he was ready to go and cautiously jogged out of his apartment. 

_There are thirty-five steps to get past three blocks from the apartment. From there, eighteen steps to get to the bookstore. From the bookstore, forty-one to my favorite coffee shop. From my favorite coffee shop, twenty-three to the public library; a few more from there and I would reach the main courthouse._

Salva arrived at the jury room with the jurors accounted for a quiet chattering about the most random things they could think of besides the case, following the protocols presented by His Honor before every session. 

He sat next to juror number eleven, _Ms. Murillo_ , as she preferred to be addressed inside the courtroom. She was in her casual turtleneck and denim pants, ditching her formal blazers and slacks for sequestration. She didn't bother sparing him a word, as they had promised to keep whatever was between them for a while. It wasn't conventional for two random jurors to have a very personal relationship while justice was being pieced by either party in the most brutal ways, but being attached to certain people you have been accustomed to for two weeks was rather therapeutic considering the heavy verdict that was about to fall on their shoulders and out of their hands.

Murillo managed a smile, though, and he gave her back a shy one before standing up to get himself a decaf from the vending machine. 

For thirty minutes, juror number four’s annoying laughter filled the room as he flirted with the wild-haired juror number ten, the older ones invested in reading weekly tabloid issues, and the rest munching on their cakes. 

Salva tried to focus on his book, but he'd involuntarily catch a few glances at Murillo's direction. Murillo, however, was so compelled on dissecting her chocolate cake as if it was a biology specimen. She was rather enjoying the abrogation game they were playing just to tease him. 

Their whereabouts were interrupted by the door swinging open in a loud hiss. 

“Judge Harrow has ordered an inspection on your belongings,” a new deputy named Larry poked his head and announced in the jury room. "We'll haul them sometime after you have arrived in your quarters." 

All the chatters faded as they shared a silent protest. Everyone turned to the huge man named Henry Willis, wondering what he would do as the foreperson of the jury. 

Instead, Salva stood up, making the jurors gawk. "I don't think everybody would permit that, sir."

"I beg your pardon."

The bearded man looked around at the disapproving looks from his colleagues that he realized were directed to the deputy, and it was enough to boost his consciousness of his power.

"There goes the nerd again, showing his ass to save ours," Silene Oliveira whispered to Agata Jimenez beside her, but the other woman just shushed her up.

Salva challenged him with a glare, "Sir, I believe there is a reason why we call them _personal belongings_?" 

"Judge's orders," Larry sharply answered back in a supercilious tone as he went inside the room, looking around as he pretended to inspect it. 

The other man crossed his arms on his chest and spat, "But is it stated in black and white? Perhaps it's just in the personal latitude of choice of the resident judge within his legal bounds. Just his discretion as an individual, yes? Look, sir, we do not have the intentions of smuggling drugs and deadly weapons inside with our possessions."

The lines on Larry's forehead appeared as he grunted something under his breath. Then he nodded to the direction of the Judge's chamber outside, "His Honor will have to do this himself–"

And then the rest of the jurors harshly complained as loud as they could, with only Monica Gaztambide trying to pacify them. There went Daniel Ramos' irritating laughter again as he was grateful for the early morning entertainment he had been provided. Larry could only slide his hand on the rusty pistol in its holster, waiting for them to turn their heads to him and at how superior he thought of himself. He rather looked stupidly impulsive.

" _Everyone_ ," Raegan Burton shouted as she appeared on the doorway, her grayish bangs hovering over her eyes. She was a middle-aged Irish woman who had acted as their guide since the start of the trial. 

Everyone bolted upright in a hush and fell to their seats, avoiding the glance of the woman. She had seemed to implement her authority and self-importance on the jury, which was actually good for an ego boost. 

"The deputy _will_ inspect your belongings because there is a sensible reason for him to do so," she insisted. Salva dropped to his seat and came to a realization that it would be absurd to request so many things a jury wouldn't in a usual trial. It would be better to take demands slowly. The court wouldn't handle a notorious jury on strike. 

He nodded to the foreperson for his thoughts on this, and Willis just shrugged. Then everyone unwillingly lined in front of Larry with their suitcases and gym bags. He grasped everything he could find from each of them as he hauled out clothes, bottles of perfume, indoor shoes, and even the boxing gloves he had found from Salva's. 

By the time it was Murillo's turn, she tried to keep a cool head as Larry groped for pieces of her possessions. He raised his eyebrows as he held out something from the pocket of her handbag. 

"Ms. Murillo, I don't think you have written a husband or a partner on the list of people for your conjugal visits," he shook his head disapprovingly as he dangled a sealed pack of condoms in the rather respectful space between them. 

She rolled her eyes and looked around the room for anyone who could be listening. Thankfully, they were just quietly gushing with each other. She turned to look at Salva clutching his styrofoam cup as he seemed to drown in his book. Murillo leaned in closer and gritted her teeth. "That doesn't mean I can't do anything _conjugal_ with one of the jurors, eh?" she spat in almost a whisper.

The deputy stared at her blankly, confused.

"Just shut the fuck up, Larry. You're not in the place to meddle in my personal life," she spat as she crouched down to fix her things in her suitcase, then stood up and headed away to the smoking room that was connected to the jury's.

Salva looked up from his book, unsure if he should follow her as he had been warily watching the whole scenario. 

There was a sense from the enigmatic in him that had been trying to tell him to focus on his plan; to quietly work his way in the minds every juror for some reason one couldn't disclose out of him.

And he wasn't supposed to fall in love or even befriend anyone, but he couldn't help himself.

⚖️

A luxury charter bus made its way to Hampton Inn along One Glenwood avenue, escorting the fifteen jurors and alternates who had to be isolated from the glare of the public and media influence to comply with their civic duty with a satisfactory verdict; which had them pressured and discomforted. No one sat together inside the tight space; they were scattered in the rows of leather seats and kept themselves silent. Pairs of exhausted eyes peered through the windows where the gentle morning light transpired with the gloomy predominance in the air. No rambling and whispers, just how all of them appeared to be unmotivated and pre-occupied had enough prominence to be audacious. 

Bergen County had reserved a whole wing on the 7th floor. Room keys were distributed as Raegan assigned the rooms in the warm-lit hallway. Women on the right side, men on the left. There would be a guard on duty at one end of the wing, and a common room which would be used for dining on the other. Salva's and Murillo's faced each other. It was at the end of the hall, beside the common room.

The bags were transported by lunch in the lobby and had to be inspected again, to the jury's frustrations. There were double beds in every room, TV's had been pulled out, bathrooms were examined, and drawers were emptied. 

No one was allowed to leave the building without the judge's permission, no one was allowed to sneak in the room of one another, no one was allowed to get out of the vicinity of the assigned wing. 

Two to three weeks of being quarantined would seem like being in prison forever. Every juror was deflated and worn out from hearing scientific statements of the witnesses, and being in the pool in general. 

Raquel went straight to her door but took a glance at Salva's room one more time as she entered hers, longing to hear his voice after long hours of modified sequestration. She pushed the thought of him away, regarding the isolation protocols they've been told many times already.

She unpacked her things from the suitcase, hung some of her coats and blouses on the cabinet, placed her toiletries, and pulled her daughter's photo in a wood frame to stand on the bedside table. Raquel stared at it, wistfully feeling the cold glass of the frame against her fingertips.

She took off her long sleeves and pants and curled in the bed in just a black inner top and underwear. Minutes after, she cried herself to sleep, a shroud of loneliness wrapping her like a warm blanket. 

⚖️

Salva was in his room, bathed in the sunlight coming from his windows to the study table. Stacks of ancient books sat near him, washing the room with its scent. 

He seemed like the only one enjoying the sequestration—peace, bottles of white wine, and just a few people he was familiar with.

He thought of his plan, mischievously smiling to himself. But he was also reminded that he shouldn't pull Raquel into the pit of his deepest and darkest secrets.

_Not ever._

_\- What exactly is Salva hiding? -_


	2. Defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events prior to the sequestration unfold. 
> 
> Alicia Sierra was hired by a huge tobacco company to direct a trial (which means she was tasked to control the jury into letting the company get away from the accusations against it in her own way: by stalking them and trying to get into their heads). With the help of the defendant's representative, Andres de Fonollosa, they get to know the prospective jurors better to figure out how to bribe them for their verdict. (Note: Prospective jurors are picked from registered voters and those who have their driver's license.)
> 
> The defense hires jury consultants to assess who is fit to be selected into the jury. Sierra and de Fonollosa discuss Salva and Raquel's qualifications.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have really enjoyed writing this fic and I just wanna thank this fandom for the support on my other work and hopefully, you will grow to love this, too!

_**FOUR WEEKS EARLIER** _

  
  


It was 9:00 on a Thursday night in one of Bergen’s well-established firms. A photo of a white Alfa Romeo parked in a suburb lawn was flashed on the vast projector screen, in replacement to the shot of a woman whose strong facial features relaxed in a frame of golden curls that flowed down her chest. Andres de Fonollosa looked around the room and studied each of the jury consultants and lawyers in rumpled polos and pale faces who were a millimeter close to dropping their heads onto their respective desks to make up for sleep-deprivation. But as of the moment, it was far-fetched to what they could afford. 

de Fonollosa snapped. “If all of you won’t be able to state any of this into your goddamn minds, you’re free to leave but I’ll keep the money in my pocket. Is that clear?

No one listened to his word. Not even millions of dollars could make them earnestly take note of where prospective juror number fifty-six parked her gorgeous car. 

“Excuse me, _your_ pocket?” 

Suddenly, the air went still and ominous that made the lawyers jot down on their legal pads with turbulence, the consultants dashed erect, and de Fonollosa halted to a stop from opening his mouth.

A dozen heads swiveled to the direction of the double doors, but de Fonollosa just clicked his tongue in annoyance. He decided not to regard the wrath of Alicia Sierra by forcing himself into the tiniest bit of interaction. 

Sierra scoffed and dramatically shook her head. “My, my. What an illusion,” she uttered as she walked down the carpeted aisle. “Perhaps you have forgotten I handpicked your firm myself. Without me, it will never earn. Your pocket doesn’t even guarantee to contain half of _my_ money.”

She stopped to face the lawyer who was about to open his mouth in an attempt to retort an insult. “Shut it, Andres. No one wants to hear another grandiosity speech from your mouth.” The woman softened with a hint of sarcasm, “I just want to see any progress. Whose car is this?”

Andres gulped, trying to hide his inferiority with a sneer. “Raquel Vicuña.”

Alicia slammed the nearby table with a fist, and most of the lawyers and consultants jerked in unison. She gritted her teeth, “Raquel _Murillo._ Show some respect.”

He huffed before proceeding, “I can see you have read her file already but for the sake of due formality, she’s a former cop who lost a custody battle with her husband–”

“ _Ex-_ husband. Continue.”

“...And is currently a psychology professor in Hartridge. Age 36. Also an occasional smoker,” Andres finished, affirming that he had said what she wanted to hear.

Sierra shrugged and rolled her eyes in consideration. “If this woman ever makes it to the jury, be gentle with her; she's vulnerable. And then we’ll have a good chance at securing her verdict. Next.” 

With a flick, de Fonollosa switched from the shot of Murillo’s Alfa Romeo to a recent photo of a man with a scratchy beard and thick-rimmed glasses that suited his dark hair. “Number fifty-seven. Salvador Martin. Age 36. One of our mysteries. A Delta State graduate, a calculus teacher at North Bergen High, another occasional smoker.”

The redhead tucked her hands in the pocket of her slacks, “A mystery, huh.”

Andres shot her a look. “One of my experts says his file is indeed sketchy. He must be lying, we’re certain. We’ll have a whole binder to prove that. As of now, this is the only photo available of him. I’m sending Hans to snoop by his apartment tomorrow.”

She tilted her head, suddenly enthralled by the possibility that they could dig a speck of huge dirt out of this man. “Keep an eye on him. And do a good job at it. The last thing we need is sequestration. It would be hard to trail them with that stupid order being processed."

⚖️

Sierra exited the conference room and barged into another meeting of eight lawyers thoroughly analyzing a batch of witnesses from the other party, then stopped by a hall to terrify another bunch of consultants working on the past related cases. After that, she made her way out of the building in an implicit stride. 

On the side of the plaintiff was a former actress filing a lawsuit against a huge tobacco company after the death of her husband from lung cancer, but Alicia could only laugh. They had millions to withdraw from their pockets to win the case and to think that they could lose against a party with fewer resources and a dimwit as an adviser was insane. Only _she_ could pull off such tricks to turn the justice from a high-profile liability suit in favor of the defendant. 

There was only one way: bribing the jurors in the most imaginative ways. 

“Sierra!”

She turned around and saw Andres rushing past the revolving door of the firm. She raised an eyebrow, “What do you need?”

He adjusted his tie, keeping proximity that was far enough to have her sanity remained. “We’re not keeping Raquel Murillo and Salvador Martin on the jury, are we?”

“If we will be able to let out whatever Martin is hiding behind his seemingly-clean resumé, we can take that against him. As for Murillo, why are you suddenly afraid of a woman psychologist?”

Andres cleared his throat, “I am not afraid of a _woman_.”

“Sure, Andres.” She started walking away to get to her car but the lawyer grabbed her by the hand and he firmly kept his balance, afraid of losing his treasured dignity. 

“Sierra, listen. There’s a chance she would outsmart our tactics given her track record.”

She rolled her eyes, “Then think of better alternatives if she ever would. Besides, she smokes. She benefits from the product of the company, and the company would take her benefit in return through her verdict. And that’s the same with Salvador. Simple. We just have to be brilliant.”

He narrowed his gaze and shook his head. “I doubt you will ever listen to my word."

"You're right. It's not like you listen to me, anyway. Now, go think of fucking the plaintiff's lawyer like you always do." 

She marched away, leaving Andres de Fonollosa glaring in contempt. If he kept on dodging away from the fact that he was pressured to be against his ex- _something_ in court—that is, if he was really something with Martin Berrote—then she would never completely trust him with his work. After all, Berrote was the mortal enemy, and she had every right to force Andres out of his gloomy daydreams. 

⚖️

Raquel Murillo took a stroll on the pavement, clutching her laptop bag with her right hand and her tote bag with the other. The afternoon was dimly-lit by the clouds hollowing with pinks and oranges in the sky. She came home pretty late from class and was in her in-ears with her mother on the phone as she had to explain why she was taking her time at school finishing powerpoints and chapter handouts. “It’s not like I have Paula around to attend to, do I, Mom?” she whined as she crossed the street.

Of course, Gandia, a former hitman, couldn’t hear any of this. All he could perceive was Sierra’s subject of interest, incognizant she was being followed by a Suburban with dark tinted windows. 

She jerked her head to his direction, however, and he was annoyed at the fact that this woman was an ex-cop and if he’d be blown if he fucks up. He couldn’t lose his large sum of money. He told himself he wouldn’t; it’s just that old habits die hard, as they say.

And then suddenly he remembered something Sierra had assigned him to do. Sometime in the next two weeks, he would have to send someone to pose as a member of a social club Murillo's mother was involved in. It was a creative way to get the psychology professor to their side. But first, the defendant representatives would need to approve this woman to the jury pool. That would be a harder task to perform.

He trailed her until she reached her home, and waited an hour until she went to take out the trash.

_Bingo._

Gandia chuckled to himself as he spotted her with a cigarette stick between her fingers. 

She could be a huge factor in the victory of the tobacco company. If Murillo wouldn't give the defendant their verdict, Gandia would have to pull a trick on one of her family members. He couldn't wait. 

_Boom._

Old habits die hard, indeed. Raquel Murillo wasn't the only one who knew how to work with guns between the both of them.


	3. S̶e̶r̶g̶i̶o̶

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a glimpse of Raquel's life as she dwells on her longing and looks forward to serving her civic duty as a way to compensate for the sedated progress of the events of her life. 
> 
> In a similar way of pursuing the verdict of the jury, Martin Berrote with Louis Hunt leads last-minute investigations on the prospective jurors as they receive the same findings as to Sierra and de Fonollosa did on Salva's and Raquel's reliabilities as jurors. 
> 
> Meanwhile, Salva meets Raquel under an unexpected convenience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back. I wasn't confident about this fic at first but I finally found the courage to continue. I am quite proud of how this chapter had turned out and I hope you all enjoy reading. Love lots!

_**THE NIGHT BEFORE JURY SELECTION** _

  
  


_“The U.S. Constitution guarantees all people the right to trial by an impartial jury. The law requires your service._

_Report to: Jury Assembly Room_

_3rd Floor – Room 104_

_10 Main St., Bergen Vicinage, New Jersey…”_

She had received her summons a week ago, but it was the fifth time Raquel Murillo had clicked on the confidential file from her recent emails for the week, not knowing what to expect from being stuck in a huge room of wood panels and rustic lighting, and more than two hundred other prospective jurors.

A blockbuster movie star from the 2000s named Lena Schneider accusing Reynolds Co. of having her husband killed from using their tobacco products? How dreary and amusing at once. It would be a huge trial indeed, she realized.

How many news outlets would be waiting in front of the courthouse tomorrow? Perhaps every one from the state, their hands stimulated with the desperation for a good story to air, swarming and buzzing with their lavalier microphones and cameras pointed at the entrance. The thought itself almost suffocated her. It must be a nice early morning hassle on the way. 

Raquel was a smoker herself, but she was not in denial of the risks so she lit up with cautious moderation and wouldn't forget about coming clean with a cup of green tea. She wondered if the lawyers would take that as an addition or a diminishment of her credibility as a juror. She didn't even know which side to take. 

She was in an entanglement with relief, however, that finally, she would have something to look forward to for the next few weeks—that is, if she could be marked qualified for the jury. She was willing to try the case, for there had been a moderation on the activities at the university she was working at and she had rather found it unpleasantly ponderous. 

Besides, she was tired of life and of things it had come with that affected her so much. A dry and monotonous one, it was: tired eyes squinting in the morning sun despite waking up from a deep sleep, drinking bland coffee, most of the time a 1967 bottle of red wine, seldom puffing cigarettes, absent-mindedly talking in front of college kids about child development, crying in the bathtub with customary levels of grief from missing her daughter, sleeping with a heavy heart, and going back again with the process. Wanting this duty was not as patriotic as anyone would think, she had just been living a mind-numbing life.

She tried seeking help since therapizing herself was never ideal. It was a struggle to keep it up, though, but it sort of helped. As for the session schedules, she was working on that. The university had found someone else to take over her classes, anyway. 

But Raquel had to put its frequency on hold, for there was a sense of duty and responsibility the jury summons had fed her. Somehow, being one of the most important people in a trial had engrossed her vanity and self-conceit; something her ex-husband had failed to fill her with.

Alberto Vicuña was a pathological cheater, and the moment she saw him dry-humping his co-worker on _her_ couch in _her_ house, she called the whole marriage off and tore all of his clothes to burn them so he could walk to his car with only his funky underwear she had always hated. 

The separation wasn't a tragedy, it was rather a hilarious response to the bastard's slandering of her self-worth. That was not what had affected her though. Now, the ill-conceived man had revoked her rights to see Paula whenever she wanted by befriending the judge to have custody over her daughter and limiting Raquel's hours of visits. 

_Stupid son of a bitch._

Maybe the reason why she wanted to be a significant figure in another hearing was that she wasn't able to win her own. 

She didn't appreciate living what many would call a solitary life, with her daughter out of reach and her mother living the most out of her high society life in Dallas. But she couldn't blame her mom; she didn't want to seem like liability and a hindrance from living the life she had been dreaming of.

All Raquel wanted was to see Paula and bring her to the bookstore to get her new storybooks to read before sleep and let her rave about exaggerated stories from the school play Alberto had purposely let her miss by not texting her about it. 

_Once again, stupid son of a bitch._

She pushed the thought away since her ex-husband didn’t even deserve to be transmitted in the smallest complex interactions in her brain. She closed the tab of her email and got up from her study table. Maybe there was something more to life than crouching in front of machines and prepping next month's paperwork at nine in the evening. 

_“Maybe there's something more to life like an interjection with another prospective juror,”_ her mother had told her over the phone earlier that morning. 

_“Maybe there's something more to life_ _than_ _an interjection with another prospective juror,”_ she had corrected with a stoic perception on the idea.

It was true. She was lonely and desperate for affection, but all she wanted was her daughter's—which she hadn't received for a week now because of her father's restrictions. She just wanted to know how Paula was doing; she had been worried sick of how the unfamiliar household she was forcibly put into was treating her right. Her ex wasn't one to trust, so tomorrow's plan was dropping by after the court dismissal, if it would be early enough for a night visit and if Alberto was in a fair mood to let her. 

_Seriously, stupid son of a bitch._

The only thing that was holding her back from taking him down herself was that she was a dignified woman and she had high standards of personal behavior. Besides, she didn't want to deprive Paula of a father. Raquel had to just wait for the consequences of Alberto's twisted ethical moralities.

She decided to change in her pants and a sleeveless shirt as she took her coat and went out of the house, keys in her hand. She needed just one more night of non-sobriety before the jury selection to ease the desolation. It wouldn't hurt, would it?

⚖️

The delayed figures of momentum before a victory, that's what they called it, inch-by-inch adding up like building blocks every time they would hit a jackpot until it reached the peak.

But there was an uncertainty of it happening. Not until after tonight. 

“File number fifty-six: Raquel Murillo. Basque American. Born in Lawrence, Kansas. A professor at the Psychology Department of Hartridge,” Louis Hunt recited in front of a group of jury experts and a psychologist in a well-lit room of a small firm. He was cunning, but clumsy at times. He stood at the center with his lanky hands and posture as he held eight files of prospective jurors whose standing in the case was questionable. Hunt directed the side of Lena Schneider, who was still mourning the death of her husband after six months. 

Martin Berrote, the lawyer from a huge Kentucky firm who wore fancy ties to brighten up his pale suits, crossed his legs on his couch at the back of the room, observing the awkward yet highly intelligent Hunt. He drained his glass of bourbon and leaned forward with peering eyes to intimidate the man into productivity. “Give me something that isn't printed on those papers.”

Hunt shook his head. “She smokes and might be a match to our consultants given her pretty impressive track record of being vigilant according to our investigators.”

“Does she smoke with thronged frequency?” Berrote asked, his pressing gaze turning into something that reflected apprehension. He ignored the fact that the woman might know she was being followed. That was the least of his concerns. If she would ever be qualified to be a juror, how could they get her cast her verdict in favor of the plaintiff?

“Under stressful circumstances.”

He took his time to consider this, tilting his head to the file the consultant was holding. This was the second time he had heard of Murillo after the actual examination of prospective jurors. What they were currently holding was a last-minute analysis of who to keep and who to decline to the jury pool. It seemed like the consultants were still hesitant on the woman in question, as she was a former negotiator and a psychology major. She might sense their strategies even before the actual trial, so Berrote took note to be mindful of his next steps. 

“This would be her first jury service, if ever,” Hunt added. 

“That means she might not know everything that goes on inside the court, but she knows what’s ethical and what’s not. The moment she would find out about our trailing…”

“Doomsday. At least, for her service. They’d let her out of jury duty. We can get away with it as long as we stay anonymous. I get it, Martin.” 

“So, are we accepting this ex-cop or not?”

Hunt cleared his throat, intensely shifting his gaze from one expert to another. “If we get satisfactory answers from her right after the first session of selection. We still have another day to find out.”

Berrote nodded as he smirked, “I'd usually follow no one's hunch because I am more certain of my own but I guess you're right. Anything else?”

Hunt shuffled through the files on the sturdy table beside him, flipping through folders to check the content until he opened his mouth with a nervous satisfaction when he had found what he was looking for. “File number fifty-seven: Salvador Martin. Hispanic. Born in Arlington, Texas. And it's speculation between our dear consultants that he's lying about it.”

“About what?” Berrote asked, suddenly intrigued.

“About everything in his file.”

“It's true,” a jury expert butted in from the long table while jotting down his notes. “We've checked the school he previously taught in Arlington. No record. He didn't leave any trail. As for his name, I doubt it's legitimate. Not surprised if he actually lied about his age but I've seen no reason to. He has no family or friends. The guy lives by himself.”

The lawyer had his eyes narrowed for a quite long moment, tapping the empty glass he was holding. “How sure are you?”

“We're experts, Martin. We have ways,” the jury expert shot back. And by _ways—_ he had meant thorough investigation; much like the FBI way but dirtier, riskier, and it took a huge sum of cash for bribery.

Hunt flipped the file close. “Pretty sure Sierra's goons had seen this, too. What would she do?”

Berrote scoffed, “What does that bitch have to do with this?”

“Aren't we supposed to anticipate what the enemy's trying to do? And what's on de Fonollosa's mind as we speak? And sabotage them?”

The lawyer shuddered at the mention of someone from his past fuck life. “We don't care about them. We don't even know if this Salvador bastard is a threat or an advantage. It would take a lot of money to disclose his whole identity. I mean, yes, we have money. Lots of it, actually. But it would take time.”

“Sierra's keeping an eye on him like she always would. She had won eight identical cases against smaller tobacco companies and I doubt she isn't one step ahead of us,” Hunt insisted.

“I told you, we don't care about them. Focus on what we can do instead.” Berrote ordered as he marched his way out of the room to refill his glass, unsure of what to think of Murillo, Martin, and six other questionable people from the prospective jurors. As a lawyer, he could better read the texture of the upcoming trial than Louis Hunt, and this was the first time he was nervous because of a name-changing bastard. 

All he wanted was their verdict to get his money's worth of handling the case to represent the plaintiff.

⚖️

Salvador Martin in his usual suit and tie was on the second round of tequila. He was seated on a barstool in Hanoi, a small diner and bar he had found the first time he got to Bergen. The place almost drained out of customers, and it was just the right place to contemplate his recurring decisions without being disturbed by a swarm of people or being deafened by the heavy silence in his apartment. 

He observed the owner on the counter, a huge tattooed man named Marseille, probably thriving from boredom as he lit up a cigarette stick. Aroused by the urge to light his own, Salva decided to review the notes he had brought instead, as he refused to make smoking a habit to get himself in good shape. It was absurd to spot a man attempting to make his method of separating mathematical variables over the slight influence of alcohol in public, but that was exactly what he would normally do. 

The jury selection would be tomorrow, and he needed something to get his mind off it for the meantime. And for reasons unknown to anyone but himself, being too invested in his plans to turn this trial around was not healthy for his peace of mind.

“Let me guess, tough calc test for your students tomorrow?” Marseille called out, divulging Salva from a storm of unimaginable number patterns sprawled on his scratch paper. They had known each other for weeks already, which was because Salva was a regular familiarity in his diner. 

“Yeah, I guess,” he lied. He couldn’t tell the man about the trial and that he wasn’t going to school the next day, afraid he would be forced to discuss the case which would tamper the protocol of non-disclosure to people unconcerned about the subject. It was not advisable to let himself be influenced by the opinion of another person while he was staying superior with his own. 

The owner chuckled at his enthusiasm. He had never seen someone so genuinely rhapsodized about too many equations and scientific calculations and just casually carry them everywhere. “Alright, you can stay here until closing, Salvador. Just don’t bother my cat and she won’t bother you,” Marseille said as he pointed to the Persian that had just made its way on the table beside Salva’s papers with a contented purr. 

He put down his pen and started petting the cat, grateful he had a little company for tonight, then went back to studying. 

The sound of a chime on the door rattled, and Salva turned around to see a woman walking in. She had strong facial lineaments with golden-brown hair straying at the level of her chest that came more charismatic under the half-light of the bar as she approached, taking off her coat when she sat at the stool next to him. Marseille took her order, which was a jigger of neat whiskey. 

The woman took out her phone and started texting, and Salva tried to focus on his maths. 

He couldn’t. 

She seemed nice, even smelled nice (not that he actually sniffed her on purpose), and looked extremely nice. He also noticed she had a stud on the side of her nose, yet he wasn’t sure what to do with that little information. When Marseille handed her a glass of whiskey, she leaned her elbow on the table and faced him, as he could sense from the periphery of his vision. He froze. Was she looking at him? 

“Hi there,” he heard her say with the most soothing voice he could catch on. Was she talking to him? 

He moved his head to her direction to hesitantly give back the pleasantry but realized soon enough that she was talking to the cat watching his paperwork. A rush of embarrassment clouded him. 

“Is she your cat?” she asked him, which was a surprise because he wouldn’t expect someone to interact with him when he was being socially inept with his maths. 

He shook his head with his usual timidity. “No, she’s not mine. It’s the owner’s and she’s a regular. No one knows her name but you can pet her.”

She chortled, lifting a hand to caress the top of the cat’s head. Salva looked down to close his notes and shoved them to his worn-out satchel. He didn’t know where he got the courage to do it, but surely a small talk with this beautiful woman wouldn’t hurt. 

“So, hi,” he started, not sure of what to say and how to say it. “The cat is adorable, isn’t she?”

She turned to him, politely smiling. “Yeah, and she seems to adore your paperwork so much. Are you a regular?”

“I guess I am,” Salva replied, taking in his tequila. “And my paperwork is a regular, too,” he joked. 

The woman smiled, genuinely this time. “Judging from that, you’re quite the professor type, aren’t you?” 

He frowned. “Uhm, how did you know?”

“It’s too obvious,” she answered. “And it takes one to know one, mind you.”

He managed an impressed snicker, “You’re a professor, too? That’s so nice to hear.” 

“Really nice,” she affirmed, smiling to herself. He wasn’t aware of the proximity of their knees under the table, but as a keen observer, she was. 

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence. It was unexpected of Salva to afford such contentment with a stranger, and he wondered what kind of social trap she had captured him in. The woman sipped from her glass as she studied him from head-to-toe, and he suddenly felt conscious as he tried not to look at the revelation her low-cut top had opened. 

The silence was interrupted by the buzzing of the phone from his pocket. “Uh, I’m sorry. I’ve got to answer this.”

She nodded with understanding. “Perhaps, you should.”

He got down from the stool and ran to the comfort room. 

“Benjamin,” he answered in a whisper.

_“Lo siento, the phone call’s a week too late but have you gotten the jury summons?”_

“Yes. Thank you.”

_“Took me days to hack into the system to get you registered as a voter and have you on the prospective jurors' list for the Schneider vs. Reynolds case, did I get it right?”_

He nodded as if his friend could see him do so. “You got it right, yes.”

_“May I ask why you’re doing this?”_

“I’d rather not disclose it, Benjamin. It’s too risky.”

_“Thank you for the extra cash, then. I’ll see you soon...Sergio.”_

He halted, motionless. “I’ve told you this before. It’s Salva now.”

He hung up and rushed back to the bar, not wanting to miss out on the woman he had just met. There she was on her third round of whiskey, waiting for him. Salva plastered a smile on his face and sat beside her. 

“Personal matters?” she asked. 

“Personal matters,” he affirmed, sipping his tequila. 

And they went on with the conversion, laughter erupting from the both of them after he said a rather awkward joke, their knees stuck together as a sign of unspoken mutual interest. They shared the most random stories from their daily lives, light nudges and touches done contrary to choice, but provoked from the consolation they both found as they dug deeper into their engagements. He raved about his enthusiasm in mathematics, while she babbled a drunken speech about how red wine is better than white. Neither noticed the couple of hours that passed until Marseille handed them the bill, and she had to go because of an important meeting, and he as well. They exchanged their apologies and thank you's for the good talk and hoped they would see each other again.

He walked her to her car and watched it vanish into the late-night traffic, whiskey and tequila washing away the thought of giving each other their names.

It was the best night of his social life, and he had forgotten about his mystery whereabouts for a blissful moment.


	4. Kissing Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back on Raquel and Salva's night of getting to know each other. The opening of the trial starts and they meet again as the consultants of the plaintiff and defendant peer their eyes on Salva and the breach of his credentials.
> 
> Note: Jury selection is a long process of going through a huge number of civilians and there are lots of restrictions on the decorum of the prospective jurors. It is also unethical and illegal for Sierra and Hunt to direct a trial by digging on the civilians' personal lives - which is the process that neither side will ever disclose to publicity, not even to the people they represent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola, how are you all doing? I hope you're all well. I'm sorry for not updating my fics for the past two weeks. Here's a longer chapter to make up for that.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for your great feedback on this work. You all inspire me to continue.

As Raquel drove through the highway, the feeling of elation infiltrated a huge subdivision of her mind, the rest of it being partaken by her intoxicated perception of the road ahead and headlights warping in blurred lengths. 

She didn’t even know his name, and she wasn’t sure if he had caught hers but she was certain of the pleasant depth of knowing him for such a short period. She started playing out fragments of their conversation in her head, smiling whenever she recalled how his voice sounded like, at the fact that she spotted twinkles in his dark eyes as he slurred his oral demonstration of the fundamental theorem of calculus, at how she felt his muscles whenever she would gently slap her hand on the mass of his arms when he cracked up signs of his geekiness that were not even funny at all but made her cackle nevertheless, at how she could still feel his knees against hers under the table the whole time, his hand on her hip as they ambled out of the diner, and the remnants of the last smile he flashed her before he closed the door of her car.

It was such a pleasant night. 

  
  


⚖️

  
  


_“Do you always mix shots of tequila and mathematics or are you just on a milestone of obtaining a new way of academic imposition on your students?” she had asked him, her drowsy eyes lingering on his graceful fingers that were clutching his drink. A minute ago, they were arguing about wine and rambled about maths, and it made her head hurt a little. So, they had come to the less formal discussions, their equilibriums obscuring minute by minute with each shot of tequila and whiskey._

_He chuckled and adjusted his glasses, “No. This is quite occasional. Plus, it’s hard to teach with a hangover the morning after.”_

_Raquel tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and narrowed her eyes, “Well, I can see you’ve done it before but soon had regrets, am I correct?”_

_“I still do have regrets about it, Inspectora,” he admitted as he raised his arms in surrender._

_She shivered at the sound of the nickname rolling in his tongue and how it roused a certain emotional and physical response inside her. She liked that. And yes, she had been stirring assumptions from his mannerisms and whatever he had said for the past hour, and this man seemed to have taken the hint. It was natural for her to pull this off on strangers; this was a mechanism that was often wired from the influence of alcohol, and she utilized the advantage of her years of training well enough to know him just from mere observation and body language._

_He had been observing her, too. And he felt so carefree and laidback, unable to take away his eyes from how her face relaxed in the frame of her golden hair. He didn’t know how, but she had just become a reliable ground to the stiff design of his sociability._

_Something in the way he looked at her assured her that whatever would slip out of her tongue was safe with him, so she didn’t mind spilling just a drop. “You know, I was once an actual inspector.”_

_He almost choked on his drink, his eyes widening in alarm. The man stared at her, waiting for confirmation if she was telling the truth. How strange, she thought. Was he hiding something or was this a sensory impairment by the tequila? Raquel was certain this wasn’t how he would react if it hadn’t been the latter choice. Besides, he had already taken the hint of her being an inspector, hadn’t he?_

_But instead of digging into her suspicions, she just shook them away. She could trust this man. She just knew it. He was nice, so gentle and sweet, awkward most of the time, and sometimes shrouded with innocence. His presence felt like some sort of a strange familiarity that caught her out of the distresses of her life. Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was her longing for company. Maybe both, but she didn’t care._

_He then swallowed his stupefaction, and she could see he was trying to keep his cool. “How come you’re not one anymore?”_

_“I quit. The system is a fucked up ledger of hypocrisy, and I thought it would be better to impart my wisdom for a better cause. Like teaching, as you can see. My colleagues back then...they acted like buffoons around me. I couldn’t get the respect I needed to function in the force, so I ended up surrendering my badge and leaving them to their incompetence.”_

_“I think you did the right thing. You deserve so much better. At least you’re in a good state now,” he remarked, sipping his drink._

_“Not really, but thanks.”_

_He smiled then looked down to dip a wedge of lime on the salt on his tequila glass and sucked on it. She didn’t know how a man trying to properly enjoy his drink was an appealing sight, but it had her spine quivering with delight._

_“So, did you really believe me when I told you I was a cop?” she asked, breaking the silence with something out of nowhere._

_He narrowed his eyes and pretended to think. “Hmm. Not exactly. I just didn’t see it coming. I’m certain you were an excellent one though.”_

_Raquel tilted her head as she drank a shot with nonchalance, leaning closer to him, her lips at proximity to his ears. She traced the lines of his body with her eyes, how they were bulking into perfection through the fabric of his stupid suit. “And you’ll see it manifest once you let my hands roam over your clothes.”_

_The man froze, the pattern of the blinking of his eyes in an unsteady fluctuation. He clearly wasn’t used to such teasing. “Uh, am I in trouble, Inspectora?”_

_She stared at him blankly for a second, then burst out wheezing and casually resting her hand on his thigh. “God, I’m kidding. I was trying to flirt with you.”_

_He sighed in relief, but the tenseness of his expression remained. “Inspectora, you’re making me nervous, but that’s quite stimulating. If you wish to do it again, I’m permitting you.”_

_“Call me that one more time and I’ll slam you on the counter and then God knows what you will permit.”_

_He gasped at the thought of it, marveling how he would feel if she ever was a woman of her word. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to test it. “I have a feeling your faculties have been impaired by the whiskey, Inspectora.”_

_She gagged while taking a sip of the said drink, “I’ve been feeling the same with yours but by the tequila, Professor.”_

_“We’re even, then.”_

_“Not for long.”_

_“Tell me why.”_

_She called Marseille for another shot, and they waited until he came with a cordial glass of her order and left._

_She turned back to him, letting her drink mingle in her hands, then smirked, “I’m about to ask you one sane thing.”_

_He rested his elbow on the table, his gaze barely leaving hers. “On what scale of sanity, Inspectora?”_

_“You seem to be enjoying yourself with that name, Professor.”_

_“I guess I am. So, on what scale of sanity?”_

_“Depends on the scale you’re referring to. But if it’s the standard, maybe it’s on the Can-I-Pay-Your-Bill? level.”_

_The man chuckled in disbelief. “Please take the whiskey slowly, your head might hurt when you wake up tomorrow. Anyway, why do you want to pay my bill, Inspectora?”_

_She rolled her eyes and tried to control her arousal. “I swear to God, call me that again and I’ll frisk you.”_

_He tried to hide how he was intrigued with the prospect by another nervous chuckle. “Please tell me why you’re willing to pay for everything first and you can follow your heart’s desire as long as you don’t hit your head on the way but I doubt that would happen because I won’t let it.”_

_Raquel hesitated for a moment. “You’re sweet.”_

_Wow. That was quick, he thought._

_The improbability of her words was sheer, but she had rather said them with ease. They stared at each other, a small trace of her words hanging in the air. He wasn’t used to this, neither was she—but it wasn’t at a condition that she was expected to share with him; it wasn’t because he was awkward and she felt the same about herself. It was because of her utmost mistreatment in the past few years: how her worth was reduced to being just a woman in a man’s world, how she felt degraded when she was cheated on, how her ex-husband kept on pushing her away from her daughter, how his guts of defying her cool would sometimes question if she was ever worthy of being loved, and most of all how she had to grasp the propensities of blaming herself for everything that happened in her life._

_Raquel was too weak to stir everything back in the air. She was defenseless, but she had a mother and a daughter. They were enough to keep her on her toes. Every step of assurance to make them feel loved and cared for was calculated with so much passion because she couldn’t thank them enough. Waking up in the morning and having to remind herself that she had them—her Mom and her Paula—was a worked-out course in the process of finding herself. Little by little, she had untied knots of the disheveled string that led her to the better days._

_She was still struggling though, but it was a known fact that it was natural to stir a little intolerance at how long the process went. And as the endless hours went by, she could feel the pulse of the better days throbbing at the tip of her senses, which were currently obscured by the alcohol. Truly, she couldn’t cut off her adoration for whiskey and red wine. Not now, she had decided. Maybe a month after, when the trial would be over, whether or not she would be a part of it._

_She was in the middle of a distraction tonight, a method that was not prescribed to her but she managed to sneak it in somehow. Sometimes, it would be okay to seize her existence and throw caution to the wind. Sometimes. This was one of those times._

_Then came this beautiful man pinning his beady gaze on her, eyes slightly red from the tequila shots and the complex content of his paperwork. Oh, what a lovely sight to bear on a drunken night. Weird but genuine. Unproportioned but amusing._

_Maybe it was the whiskey that made her say those words, but to hell her care went. He had brought such a strange blanket of security. Maybe he could even become her bodyguard in glasses. She eased herself with the thought. Or maybe just a friend, since she had been dwelling on her lack of it. Ah, just her independence sidelining out of its journey, maybe its essence would come back soon._

_Nevertheless, it all spiraled down to her wanting him around for a sober moment._

_He paneled an order of emotions on his face: a surprised one twitching into a manifestation of shyness—something that told her he wasn’t accustomed to compliments—then he managed a smile, a small one, but it was able to fill her heart with amusement. “Uh, should I say thank you in this kind of situation?”_

_She stifled a laugh at his pleasurable diversion and how real he had been presenting himself. “Tell me how you feel about it. Say, I’ve just said it again. Or maybe I should just say it again: As an externalization of my gratitude for being sweet to me, may I please pay your bill?”_

_She didn’t even know how he deserved it, because he just acted like someone trying to be polite and courteous and...sweet. She couldn’t take that word away from the man, even if he was just expressing basic human decency._

_Well, there was nothing else he could do. He liked her, too._

_He lifted a finger to fix the position of his glasses on his nose, then raised his eyebrows with the same amusement. “You can, but I won’t let you. I don’t want to take advantage of–”_

_“I won’t let you see it that way. I know this sounds ridiculous and not sane but it’s just a thank you, nothing more.”_

_“This is just so random, Inspectora. I would suggest otherwise.”_

_“I know, but we may or may not see each other again. At least you’ll remember something out of this casual talk.”_

_“Well, then let me pay yours, please?” he asked politely. “If we’re talking sentiments, I’d rather remember this bizarre exchange of words. And bills, perhaps.”_

_“Are you saying that because you don’t want to owe me anything?”_

_He shrugged. “Maybe.”_

_She considered his suggestion for a moment, then straightened herself on her seat. She owed him a lot for the company, but that was now shaken off. “Sounds more spontaneous and fun. I suppose that’s a better idea, Professor.”_

_“It’s a deal then, Inspectora,” he said as he held out his hand for her to shake. To her surprise, he didn’t hesitate when he initiated the contact. When she reached for his hand, she felt how it was pleasantly rough against the softness of hers, her warmth insulating the coldness of his._

_They let go, automatically getting a hold of their drinks. Raquel didn’t see that coming from him, since she figured he was rather reserved and his actions thought-out. Not this time. She wondered if he couldn’t grasp his deliberations with alcohol that well, or maybe it was because of her. She shook it off. How much power did she think she had? A power that was more than enough to mesmerize him? Perhaps, just a little bit, but not enough to break him free out of his cage. The tequila might have done a great job at pulling him from his deftness at sanity._

_The man caught a small smile forming on her lips, and the rest of his world faded to a blur after that._

_Raquel caught him staring, and in his eyes rippled a sudden hint of...what, madness? Intimidation? Desire? Whatever it was, it urged her to drag herself from the barstool she was sitting at and straddle him with whiskey-induced confidence. But that would overthrow him in surprise because he had mentioned in the foremost stage of their conversation that he was not fond of intimacy with people. But wasn’t their whole association already at a level that suggested informal warmth? Their call signs and the handshake proved otherwise, but they both knew it was beyond that._

_That reason was notwithstanding though. She wouldn’t want to snow him under because of her desire and ruin this moment. Instead, she just took in how he looked at her; as if she was a billion-dollar verdict and he was at a party to a legal action claiming her as his. No amount of money would ever compare to how precious she was to his eyes. Not even a huge verdict to take down a massive percentage of corporate America._

_A shiver coursed over her the length of her spine. No one had ever made her feel so hot and adored at once, only the eyes behind that thick frame of glasses. At that moment, she felt like gravity, and he was her object of interest that was being pulled to just paper-thin proximity. Their faces slowly came together in the shadows of the bar—so close that she could feel his breath growing more ragged with each millimeter._

_She wasn’t always a woman of her word, but she was a one of distinct beauty, and he made her feel it with the way he radiated admiration in his eyes._

_Oh, those eyes of a great mystery with untouched oceans of deep secrets. She just wanted to marvel through every one of them. Little did she know, the metaphor was aligned with reality. It was true, the man was a chest of secrets and a painful past. But at this moment, she was his present._

_He was so close now. So, so, so close. She wanted to pull him even closer and let him smudge her red lipstick with the slit of his mouth, and he wanted to do the same because he had to know how those lips tasted and maybe learn how to swirl their tongues together, but they let the moment drag in a fast rotation of everything around them—a deep contrast to their slow pacing. Their eyes waned in resistance, noses touching, hands intertwining under the table on her lap._

_What force pulled them this close and why did it bolt so fast like lightning? They didn’t know. Everything was just too quick. All they knew was that they were under the spell of each other’s intoxication. She breathed in the spice of tequila in his breath, and he breathed in hers that was fogged with the malty aroma of whiskey–_

_“I’m really, really sorry to interrupt but it’s closing time,” Marseille blurted from their side, dangling their bills in his hand._

_They both jumped and ruffled back to their seats as if nothing happened, suddenly avoiding each other’s eyes._

_That was a nice interlude, she hated it._

_She clicked her tongue and pulled her hand away from its entanglement with his to thumb her forehead. He wished she hadn’t, he loved how warm she had felt on his skin._

_He wanted to punch Marseille for a moment if only he wasn’t his friend. Besides, that would mean getting out of the diner forever, and that wouldn’t leave a nice impression on her._

_A memory from a short distance away reminded them of the deal, and so he came to his senses. She started to chortle, and it made him red in embarrassment so he tried to lay his eyes on anything else except her. Yet from his periphery, she reached over the bills and slipped some dollars from her pocket. And the sound of leather folders slamming shut made him realize she took care of everything and that Marseille was walking back to the counter with the full amount of money they had both accumulated for him tonight. They were free to go._

_“Inspectora, what about the deal?” he asked, dismounting himself from the barstool._

_She raised her eyebrows, hopping out of her seat as she followed him through an aisle of empty booths. “What about it?”_

_“Aren’t we supposed to take care of each other’s bills?”_

_“Oh, forget that. I have thought of a much better one.”_

_With haste, he had forgotten about the earlier awkwardness. She was a woman of surprises as well, he thought._

_“Tell me about it.”_

_There was no reluctance, no holding back, and most certainly no walking away. She stopped with her back facing the door, an array of teases dancing in her eyes. “Just promise me we’ll see each other again.”_

_Was this the whiskey talking or she wanted to see him again? Either way, he couldn’t believe she just said something he couldn’t articulate but wanted just as much. “I promise you, sober or not.”_

_She smiled and opened the door for him. He just stood there, stunned under the dimming lights of the diner. “Aren’t you coming?”_

_“Coming where?”_

_“Would you like to walk me to my car?”_

_He came to a realization, seemingly expecting a different answer at the back of his mind. “Of course,” he replied, clutching the thick string of his worn-out satchel._

_Being drunk and having no idea what exactly they were doing was just as romantic as throwing up on the pavement. Gladly, despite having the urge to, neither of them did. They were breathing in the smoke from the streets, the night air clinging onto their coats._

_“Look, I’m sorry about what happened earlier,” he said, seemingly unaware he was making her shiver with his hand on her hip._

_“We should’ve had it, don’t you think? I’m curious where we would’ve ended up if we did that,” she said, looking up at him._

_“Did what?”_

_“You know what I’m talking about.”_

_The man knew what she was talking about, but he just kept his mouth shut. He didn’t know how to say it, but he had the same curiosity. He withdrew his hand from her hip in embarrassment. “I don’t think we would end up in the same place if things had gone on its actual course.”_

_“I know. Would you like to do it again?”_

_He was flabbergasted at how casually she could talk about wanting to kiss him. “You mean, right here?”_

_“No. When we see each other again. I have a feeling if I kiss you tonight, I would be late for my appointment tomorrow. And you would be, too.”_

_Dazed, he wondered how a tingle of self-control had seeped through her staggering intoxication._

_For his sake and her satisfaction, he considered it. Kissing someone he had just met when they would be able to embed the moment into the threshold of their consciousness was something he wouldn’t think he could be doing anytime soon. But she was different, and she made him feel something different. His thoughts might have been obscured by the alcohol, but maybe this was something he would never regret._

_“I can't think of a better plan,” he agreed._

_“I'm glad,” she said, winking._

_They walked in silence, muttering apologies for the awkwardness they couldn’t move on from._

_She stopped in front of her white Alfa Romeo, fumbling for the keys in her coat pocket. “I guess this is the part where we say goodbye for now, Professor. I’m sorry. I wish I could stay the night.”_

_“Alright, thank you for the company.”_

_“You’re welcome. Thanks. I wasn't feeling any better until you happened to be sitting next to me.”_

_He blushed. “Anytime, Inspectora.”_

_“Take care, Professor.”_

_They smiled at each other one last time and he led her inside her car._

⚖

Raquel couldn’t stop thinking of him even after coming home in the cozy safety of her house. She rushed to take a quick shower and changed into her nightgown, bewildered by that night’s happenings. Just hours ago, she was anxious about tomorrow, but at that moment she could only look forward to the day after tomorrow, and the day after that, and the one after that until she would find him again in another bizarre episode. She could only wish fate had let them kiss each other. After that, she threw herself on the sheets. 

⚖️

The canvas was his skin under and the strokes the Italian suit all over his fine body. He stood evenly in front of the mirror with the most dexterous aura and suave he could execute. 

But the more he tried to distract himself, the more he thought of _her_ ; the one and only woman from Hanoi. He should’ve gone with it, maybe every nerve would have been shaken out of him before the jury selection.

And then he remembered he had his business to manage, so he collected himself and straightened again. 

_Show your superiority in every step of the way._

He pretended to check the time on his watch, then carefully studied every inch of his move from the reflection.

_Stay calm._

He reached over his desk and opened the paperback he chose to bring to court. He didn’t twitch a muscle, not even a nerve. All of his voluntary and involuntary movements in balance. 

_Never talk unnecessary information to the judge and the lawyers._

He had briefed himself with everything beforehand and had done the drill for the billionth time already. Although he couldn’t take away the fact that he was still nervous, surely he would find a way to shove it in his pocket.

Anyone would call this an act, but this was his _art._

“Fairness and impartiality,” Salva recited to himself, chuckling in mischief. It was already nine o’clock on a Monday morning, and he didn’t realize he was late for his exhibit. 

⚖️  
  


_**OPENING OF THE TRIAL, DAY ONE** _

Up the marble staircase to the atrium on the third floor was the main courtroom of Bergen Vicinage. The walls were applied with a coat of cream and the floors glinted with freshly-applied wax. 

The crowd in the atrium was assembled by eight o’clock. A large group was growing minute by minute at the center, each awkwardly holding their jury summons. Uniformed deputies were assigned to keep things in order, especially when it was the opening day—the part where a load of journalists gathered in front to cover the early developments of the _Schneider v. Reynolds_ case. It was a full house, as expected from a former celebrity against a huge tobacco company. 

By nine o’clock the deputies checked the pieces of papers on the hands of the jurors and admitted them inside the room through the metal detectors. It was the first day of jury selection, where they would eliminate unqualified people to try the case. From one hundred ninety-eight prospective jurors to twelve—wasn’t one slender ratio. 

The main courtroom had more than enough to seat three hundred people. Of course, Raquel was one of them, still a little dizzy from last night’s whereabouts in her grey pantsuit.

“You think the corporate side’s gonna win?” asked a voice behind her as they assembled inside. She turned around to see a young woman in a blunt bob and bangs leaning closer to another woman with slicked dark hair. 

The taller one frowned, shaking her head in distaste. “Not even an hour into the trial now you’re discussing the case with me, lady.” 

“It’s not like someone else is going to hear us,” she replied but drew herself back when she spotted Raquel peering and unintentionally eavesdropping. 

Raquel swiveled back to finding her seat. She doubted that that woman could even make it to the first day of selection after an attempt to discuss the case with someone else.

The jurors were herded into the padded benches once they were assigned numbers. Raquel got number fifty-six and so she sat beside an empty seat on the sixth row, nervously fiddling with a pencil. She didn’t know what to anticipate. The chatters were quieter than expected, which irritated her to a short extent. It didn’t help with the apprehension a huge civil trial could bring since it made her morning less effervescent. 

More local lawyers, reporters, and spectators filed in from the rear of the courtroom. A clerk handed out an initial questionnaire for personal examination and gave Raquel a worried expression when she eyed the empty seat next to her. The clerk asked her if the juror number fifty-seven went for a bathroom break, and she answered no, the seat had been unoccupied when she arrived. She received the questionnaire and went over the content, then took out her pen to earnestly fill it in. 

That was when the air went still, and the huge double doors were opened by the deputy to make way for the exultant Andres de Fonollosa, the lawyer of the defendant. He started barking at a paralegal as he walked down the aisle, bringing most of the attention to himself. He sneered at the other side of the room, where Martin Berrote in his bright orange suit was in his practiced stoic demeanor. He cursed him from his bench. Andres shook his head as if to remind the plaintiff’s lawyer that he was going to win. Again. 

He turned to the jury consultants perched near the railings, but his people couldn’t seem to acknowledge him, for their gazes were on the man who was rushing a tiptoe inside the room and startling the clerks, his satchel clutched to his chest. He found his seat beside the woman who seemed to be Raquel Murillo, who was so focused on answering her questionnaire that she didn’t even notice the arrival of her seatmate.

de Fonollosa acted as if they weren’t studying him and ten other prospective jurors last night, and Berrote hid the same mischief. But of course, no one from the jury and the officials knew about this. Stalking random jurors from the state to be able to figure out how to manipulate them was unethical for two “credible” men of the law. 

It was _Salvador Martin,_ who got his fair share of concerned looks by the jury consultants from both sides of the party. He was still an enigma to everyone, it seemed. The only thing they could get from him this time was his crisis with punctuality. That could be something. 

Salva was panting on his seat. Tardiness was his only genuine characteristic today, nothing else. If he had not anticipated too much this morning, he could’ve been earlier for the opening. He kept himself together and straightened for a subdued smolder, the Professor in him fiercely burning with the desire to reach his secret goal. Reminding himself of his supposed formal decorum, he fixed his tie as the clerk handed him a piece of paper. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. The traffic is heavier today,” he apologized quietly, avoiding the curious looks from the people from his row, though he hadn’t shared eye contact with anyone except the clerk. 

He fumbled through his satchel for a pen but found none. He must have forgotten it in Hanoi last night. Damn, if he had not taken a lot more of the tequila…

He shook the thought away. It was his unwritten protocol not to think about anything that would lead to a longing for _her._ God, he had thought the feeling would wash away with the fleeting effects of alcohol, but he was completely wrong. It was stronger than he had expected—there seemed to be a force somewhere inside that pierced through his senses. 

Salva tentatively tried to forget about last night, for he had prepared himself for this moment. It wouldn’t be wise to ruin his plan for a stranger, he would deal with that later. He then turned to the woman beside him to ask for an extra pen, and suddenly all the disputes in his head were hushed to a static buzz. How on earth…?

It was _her._

_She_ was the force herself.

He took in how her hair fell on one side of her shoulder and how she riveted through the questionnaire with such sobriety. The sight was far from what he had witnessed last night. She was gravely serious now, her lighthearted smile gone. Then he reminded himself no one would dare smile like a lunatic in the middle of a jury selection process of a heavy corporate trial. 

Salva suppressed a gawk, for he was aware of the stares from the jury consultants, and he grew even more uneasy each second. This was the most awful coincidence he had ever encountered. He froze in his seat, slowly nodding down on his questionnaire. The woman was still answering hers next to him, and he was grateful she hadn’t looked up. He needed to finish answering this before everyone else would, yet he still didn’t have a pen. 

He tapped the shoulder of the bulky man to his right, who looked bored and did nothing but play with his pen. He didn’t even turn to Salva, and it was good riddance since the man started chewing the cap of the pen. 

Salva inspected everyone else around him, but their heads were onto their questionnaires, and he realized the inconvenience he would cause if he had to ask them one by one. The only resort he could think of was asking the Inspectora, who still hadn’t made the slightest twitch with her head to his direction. It wouldn’t be embarrassing if he would nudge her for an extra pen, right? But it was still awkward for him since they had agreed to go on with the kiss once they were sober. Now that they were, he tried to unimagine what it would be like to do it in this very room. Maybe it was something they would do under the influence of alcohol, but it was never an advisable decorum in public. 

He had no idea where those ridiculous prospects came from and he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t get that deal out of his mind. What made that deal so special that it kept on running in circles in his head. 

Now, the pen. He was just about to ask for a pen. How was he supposed to when he didn’t know her name? But each passing minute made him realize he shouldn’t waste his time holding himself back. It was just for a pen, anyway. 

_And she’s just the woman you’ve been meaning to kiss._

_Shut up,_ he told himself. 

Finally, he reluctantly lifted his finger to tap her back, keeping the contact as gentle as possible. 

“Excuse me,” he whispered, slightly leaning towards her.

Raquel froze. She knew that voice. She had heard that sometime, somewhere, but she just couldn’t get herself to think about it when she was trying to explain something about her occupation in the questionnaire. 

When she turned to whoever owned the voice, she froze even more, if such a thing was realistically possible. 

It was _him_.

 _He_ owned the voice.

A familiar sensation seeped through her veins, something that reminded her of the bliss she had felt last night. Of all the places they could meet, the courtroom was the last on her list—not that she was listing anything in her head before they could even see each other again. She didn’t even realize he was the latecomer, number fifty-seven. The funny thing was, she remembered about the failed kiss and the one she was supposed to give him right now—if only they hadn’t met at this moment. Why would she forget, anyway?

“Professor?” she uttered louder than she had expected.

He put a finger to his lips. “Shhh. Good morning, Inspectora,” he said under his breath.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she whispered back. 

“Me, too,” he gulped, trying to rush her into the conversation. This wasn’t a time for catching up. They both knew that. “Look, mind if I borrow an extra pen?”

“I don’t have an extra but I’m almost done with this. Are you willing to wait until I finish?”

“There’s no better option,” he answered in the lowest hush he could stifle. 

She leaned back to her seat and scribbled her answers to the last question, then passed the pen to him.

He took it with a shy smile, which is the only thing he could give as of the moment. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Professor. Would you like to talk later?”

“I’d love that,” he replied, settling himself back on the bench. 

Salva quickly and carefully ticked off and wrote down his answers to the fairly personal questions, then handed the paper back to the clerk. He was just in time for the hoarse voice of the deputy echoing in the room, gathering all the attention to himself.

“All rise for the court,” he announced, and then Honorable William Harris in his dark robe took a stride in the court. Everyone jumped out of their seats to acknowledge him. 

His Honor stepped up in front and asked everyone to settle themselves back on their seats. Harris was a former plaintiff’s lawyer, whose passion and drive came with the luck of an appointment to the bench. Now, he had earned more than he ever had as a lawyer from a local firm. 

He adjusted the microphone and started his preliminary speech about how their presence was significant for the succession of the trial, and it warmed his heart that the room was packed with qualified voters who are willing to try the case as if their participation was voluntary. 

Seated before he were more lawyers—nine for the plaintiff, ten for the defense. His Honor has assigned their seating arrangement five days before the opening. Once the jury selection was through, only six from both sides could sit with their feet under the table. The rest would be huddled near where the jury consultants watched and observed. 

Inside the courtroom gathered the most brilliant of the legal minds and largest fragile egos in the industry, and Judge Harris had to be discreet in the ruling. 

The trial would last for weeks, maybe more than a month. He had also explained that they would not be sequestered until further notice. 

The rest of the preliminaries were questions when they would examine who could fit the trial through the statutory excuses. Hands shot upward when questions were asked about their capabilities and when the age restrictions were raised to the discussion. They had the option to leave, and many did. It left the crowd with one hundred seventy jurors. The jury consultants marked the names of the excluded off their notes.

Salva and Raquel, who were still completely clueless of each other’s names, stole glances at each other from time to time in a haze of questions and preliminary approaches. He would sometimes turn to her direction and catch her staring and smiling. She would sometimes turn to his and catch him gaping, then she would twitch back her attention in front. 

His Honor then called for a lunch recess, and a collective sighing was exhaled throughout the room. 

“Hey,” Raquel said with a smile as she waited for him to sling his satchel on his shoulder.

“Hi,” he replied, almost recoiling in astonishment.

Last night’s rendezvous was a blur, but the consolation they had found in each other as friends were still crystal clear. 

“Do you know a nearby place where we can talk?” she asked as they were ushered out of the courtroom.

As someone who had the entire floor plan of the courthouse as it might benefit his intentions, that was a question as easy as integration—which was his expertise. And so, he led her to the elevator, keeping his sober distance as to not startle her with how fast things have been in motion. 

He pressed the top floor, and she frowned at the confusion. “Where are you taking me?”

He gestured to the elevator buttons. “You saw it. Top floor.”

“Are we allowed to go there?”

“Trust me,” he assured, nodding his head down to level hers.

She tried to, but it was weird to just casually proceed to the other supposedly restricted areas of the Bergen Vicinage. 

When the elevator doors slid open, an array of locked offices came to view. “What is this?” she asked, still nervous. 

Salva grabbed her hand, and they tiptoed through the lit hallways. “Just keep on going, there are no deputies here.”

Raquel followed him out of a sliding door at the end of the foyer, where a sight of the city welcomed them. The late noon sun radiated indirectly above their heads, through the acrylic texture of the roof, heating the surface of the metal railings. The veranda of the top floor wasn’t very spacious, but it was enough to shade them to privacy. 

The cool breeze caught her hair and she tucked it back behind her ear. “Professor…”

“What do you think?” he asked from behind her, staring at the sight below them. 

“Be honest. How did you find out about this?” she pinned, grinning at the skyline of the state. Then she turned to him as she waited for his answer.

“I happen to know a friend,” he earnestly replied. It was true. To keep his plans on track, he needed to befriend everyone. But his plans were out of his thinking range right now, because he was with her and he didn’t want anything to be disclosed. 

“Someone from the deputies or the lawyers?” she joked. 

He shook his head. “No. Just a clerk.”

“Oh, okay,” she nodded, then pursed her lips. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I know we have a few things to catch up on, but since we’re here, there’s only one thing on my mind.”

“What?” he asked again, oblivious and confused. 

“Just as promised,” she whispered. 

She closed the distance between them, staring at his eyes that were swirling with honey from the reflection of the sun, then grabbed his face and pressed their lips together, without preludes, without reluctance. 

He could only remain standing in giddy consternation as he tasted coffee in her mouth, and it was good. This desire was the only thing that kept him distracted, both from the trial and his plans. Now, they were up here, under the broad daylight, tongues finally finding their ways together. She withdrew her mind off everything else, and savored his breath, his lips, how the feeling spun her around. 

They didn’t know kissing strangers like this would make them forget about how they were skipping lunch and that they were in the middle of a huge corporate trial with a civic duty to fulfill. The only thing that they had to satiate at this moment was the underlying desire to hold each other. At least they hadn’t forgotten about the deal.

Oh, god. 

So much for a _talk._


	5. Fuck It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salva and Raquel's rendezvous in the rooftop continues. 
> 
> With and Tamayo as the two prominent people in the tobacco industry who are desperate to win the case, hence ordering Sierra to direct the job once again. Reynolds is a huge company and its downfall will be the end of the tobacco economic activity in the whole state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! It's my birthday today so I'm updating this and "So It Had Come To This" as a gift for my wonderful readers. I'm sorry I've been busy settling matters from school. Thank you so much for hanging on.

A trickle of inhibition helped her fingers crawl their way to the lapel of his suit, and they _deliberately_ slid to his buttons as he pulled her body closer. The sounds of their kissing blended with the subtle whirl of the wind and it was just as loud as her inner moans when his hands traveled everywhere on her back.

Their mouths still crashing against each other and eagerly responding to every silent plea, Raquel wondered all of a sudden how the _fuck_ they had gotten in this position—sober and desperate for every crumb of touch in the middle of the day of a strikingly serious civil process in the whole state. 

What part of their fragility in post-alcohol-driven decisions made her run away with him to an obviously forbidden floor of a state _courthouse_ and come close to dry-humping him in the open even in the most rational realization she was coming into?

This felt like an obscured impulse, but he was utterly and overwhelmingly irresistible. God, where did this man come from? The busy woman in her hadn’t had this in a while, and he looked like he could use some of it to save his life (because he was holding onto her like she was about to push him off the building, but he was clearly enjoying himself so she let him be).

Still, she wasn’t supposed to be kissing someone who was basically a _stranger_ (at least to an extent, since they shared bits of their lives last night—drunk). This was downright ridiculous.

Before they could take it to an embarrassingly impulsive act of intimacy in semi-public, a mutual force of provocation led them to abruptly grasp each other’s faces at least three centimeters away from the contact. 

Clumsy attempts to straighten their hair and clothes that happened in a rustle of blurted apologies for being too impulsive on each other. Hanging in the air was the same wind that chimed in with the wet slurping that occurred just seconds ago, now blended with tension and regression that made them stick off their lips from their unusually tight bond. 

Both had the urge to make it happen the second they saw each other in the courtroom since it was somehow a delayed gratification from last night’s retreat. It was a wise move, though. If they had slept with each other the night before, Salva wouldn’t have the time to prepare for his secret shenanigans. If Raquel had stayed the night (assuming it would've happened at his place), she wouldn’t have had the chance to remind her substitute professor about the paperwork she had almost left unacknowledged on her desk. 

At least, they had sealed every end of the deal, they could get this over with once and for all, and that they could clear the tension rising in between them. 

Except that it kept on rising each time they blinked. 

Salva had his eyes widened at her, startled as if he had torn himself out of his clothes in front of her. For a moment, he felt like a naked man on the street with a magnet attracting the eyes of curious bypassers. He had the urge to throw himself off the railings. He was frustrated and overwhelmed to even be aware of what he was doing. This was not something he would do on a daily basis, not even at work, not even on duty, and not even in his godforsaken life. 

Raquel grabbed her forehead and thumbed it until she could dig a few words from the pit of her stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he hesitated to let out of his mouth. He had been thinking of anything to spare himself out of the situation; considered running away, but that would be out of his dispensation; thought about making himself collapse, but he wouldn’t want to worry her and get as much attention as he normally could; or might actually throw himself off the railings, but that would be so brutal and he wouldn’t want her to witness something as disturbing as the prospect. Seriously, how would you act around a woman you had randomly met the other night, almost kissed, might have even slept with if given the chance, and eventually kissed just a few seconds ago? Salva had no solid idea.

Suddenly, he remembered something that bothered him the other night; the mystery he had been unwillingly trying to solve for hours. 

They had talked, teased each other, opened themselves, and aggressively kissed but they weren’t able to catch each other’s _names._

Out of all the pleasantries they had exchanged among themselves, that one relevant card to getting to know each other was completely revoked. It was as if it didn’t matter, but it was weird to let it slip off. 

Salva wanted to get to know her deeper. He would admit she was fascinating and absolutely beautiful.

He took a deep breath. 

“Salva,” he blurted out, making her look up with her eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“My name is Salva.” 

She blinked, scoffing as she studied him. His shoulders twitched up, which told her he was quite nervous about something, but she figured he had been like this since last night so maybe stiffness was really a part of his composure. “Salva,” she echoed, letting the traces of her voice linger in the air.

_Salva, bestowed from the name of Christ._

_So that was why he seemed to have the blessing of the almighty right in his mouth_ , she thought. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her name to herself, right?

“Raquel. My name is Raquel.”

There was only one thing in Salva’s mind. This woman he had met last night had a beautiful name. She had those eyes of honey, the fragrance of fresh lilacs, and composure of determination and resolution. 

She opened her mouth, closed it again, but decided to finally let out a few words from the staggering sensation the kisses had brought her. “It’s Professor Raquel Murillo.”

He took note of it. “Professor Salvador Martin. It’s nice to meet you, Raquel.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Salva.”

They shook hands, then retreated, taking a fair distance from each other. It’s funny how both of them seemed to have ruined the chronology of pleasantries since they immediately ran with the procedure of intimacy beforehand. 

Salva took a glance at his wristwatch and rubbed his palms together. “Raquel, I don’t think it’s wise to stay here. I mean, I would gladly take the chance to get to know you more but we have forty-five minutes left until the court will resume.”

A realization made her inhale deeply in surprise. Oh, yes, the trial. Despite having to remind herself of what they were in the middle of just because she was enamored with what he could offer. “I’d love to get to know you better, too but I guess this is the part where we go on our separate ways for now?” 

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay. When will we get to talk again?”

“Maybe we can catch up later. I mean, without the kissing.”

Raquel chortled, sensing the shyness in Salva’s tone. “Sure. I’ll just tap you later. I gotta get going. You, too.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned her back to the hallways, leaving him in a stunned trance. 

He wasn’t sure how a kiss was supposed to make someone feel, but whatever happened there made him desire for more. 

⚖️

  
  


Two European-American men in the hotel room clinked their champagne glasses together, chuckling as the older one named Alfonso Prieto puffed yet another cigarette stick between his fingers. Luis Tamayo, the one that initiated a truce between the two companies opened a newspaper, then closed it as his peery eyes zoomed to one particular headline. It was about the ongoing case of his company. Therefore, he was pissed again, so pissed that he had to necessitate hanging out with the CEO of another large company under _Fortune_ _8_ , traded by the New York Stock Exchange. Tamayo hated Prieto, but he had no other choice but to need his support. They had to save _Reynolds_ or the tobacco industry in America would collapse. 

The door to the room opened, and the slender figure of Alicia Sierra in yet another pair of her iconic bright pantsuit appeared in the doorway. She closed the door and went on with the business. “I TOLD YOU WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LEAVE TRACES OF COMMUNICATION. WHY WERE YOU SO STUPID TO CALL MY ACTUAL PHONE?” she complained, taking a glass on the corner table and filling it with champagne. 

“No traces of communication, you say, but here you are screaming like an animal when we can be heard from the other side of the wall,” Tamayo rebutted with nonchalance, as if he didn’t have the slightest care this company was about to go down.

Sierra sneered at the man. “Then why did you call me?”

“What were you doing with the prospective jurors?” Prieto asked.

She paused, settling herself on the edge of one of the beds. “It’s none of your business," she said, refusing to let out how unethical stalking and harassing was in the legal field.

“Alicia, I swear to God. I don’t want any traces of blood in my money,” Tamayo said, crossing his legs as he sat on the couch. “How long do we have to stay out of town?”

Sierra rolled her eyes in impatience. “Until you testify. That way, Berrote can’t sabotage you with your complete tardiness. You’ll have to at least attend one session and read about your case.” 

“The jury, Alicia. How do we get their verdict?”

“As I said, it’s confidential. Just trust me.”

Tamayo and Prieto shared a nervous look. “Alfonso and I have been trying to let your secret strategy out for years. It’s as if it’s not your first time directing our side. Come on, say it.”

“If I tell you how I do it, would that change anything? I’ve been winning the same case over and over again with everyone minding their own business. Yours is to write your statement within next week, Luis. Mine is to do the job you hired me to do.”

“As long as you promise our victory,” Tamayo conditioned. 

Sierra smirked, standing up to cave the door handle with her hand. “Just. Trust. Me.” 

Both CEOs jolted at how she slammed the door to their capitalistic faces. 

  
  


⚖️

  
  
  


They did not tap each other’s shoulders, nor did they share a glance at each other in the time-consuming process of jury selection. Raquel thought that it was just normal for them to avoid each other for a while, but she secretly wished she had stayed with him on the veranda just to talk.

It was just the first session, but everyone seemed exhausted from the heavy burden of listening to terms that were regarded for the sake of formality rather than necessity. 

To Raquel’s convenience, the first session ended thirty minutes after five. That would mean she could visit her daughter, but that would also mean she had to call her ex-husband first. 

_Son of a bitch._

At the parking lot of the courthouse, Raquel stared at her phone, contemplating whether to call the bastard before she would drive by his house or just casually show up. _Fuck it,_ she thought as she locked her phone. She didn’t care about the bastard’s rules.

Raquel was on her way to her car until she remembered she took the train in the morning so she retreated to the lobby and folded her coat on her arm. Hissing under her breath, she complained about how everything in her life turned out to be an inconvenience of some sort. In the sheer improbability of the moment, she immediately took that back when she spotted a man in a suit riding a motorcycle at the far corner of the gate exit. 

_That_ was the farthest from what she would call an inconvenience. 

He turned around and accelerated to her direction. She knew deep down inside that it was the same goddamn suit she wanted to strip off just hours ago. He turned off the engine, balancing the motorcycle with his foot on the ground. 

Salva pulled the helmet off his head, flashing a smile as he combed his fingers through his hair. Just hours ago, her fingers were the one threading those curly locks. Raquel shook away the thought, beaming back at him then chewed her well-exfoliated bottom lip. 

“Hi,” she exhaled. 

“Hi,” he waved. “Are you going home?”

“No, I’m running some errands.”

“Do you have your car with you?” 

She shook her head, pursing her lips. “I’m taking the train.”

“There is no need for that.” Salva unhooked another helmet from the handle and stretched his arm to hand it to her. “Ride with me.” 

Raquel’s jaw dropped, chortling in disbelief. _Salva_ was offering _her_ a ride. She couldn’t imagine such a seemingly conservative man offer something like that. She didn’t know whether to feel elated from the prospect of _riding_ with him or embarrassed that she had to owe him something other than the _catching up_ they had agreed to have. But _fuck it,_ she was starting to like him more. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to throw caution to the wind just once in her life. 

“Oh, Salva. Godsent. _Godsent_ ,” Raquel said in utter satisfaction as she took the helmet and pushed it over her head. She lifted a leg over the seat and settled herself behind him, her both hands hesitantly on his either hips. 

Salva froze from the contact, nervously looking back at her. “Where to?” 

She fished for her phone from her pocket and showed him the route. “That’s my ex-husband’s address.”

Sensing how she was far from talking about him with fondness, he raised his eyebrows. “I know I’m not in the place to ask but—”

“Salva, if you want to get to know me let’s just get going, and maybe later that’s the story you would be listening to under the stars if you want.”

“I can’t think of a better plan.” He smiled, pulled the visor down, and started the engine. But he stopped what he was doing and glanced down on where her hands were loosely stuck to. 

“You might want to hold on tighter.” 

And so, she wrapped her arms around his abdomen, feeling its bulk with her palm as they rode into the sunset. 


	6. Under No Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salva and Raquel spend the night together for her to cope up with earlier distress. A hint of Salva's intentions on the trial is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! 
> 
> I haven't been active here so here I am with a loooong chapter to make up for that if you don't mind. I hope everyone's doing well. Stay hydrated!

A wave of exhilaration washed over Salva as he drove through the suburbs, his whole body quivering along with the trembling of the motorcycle. He was in deep rhapsody with the inconsistent speed they were at and the baffling fact that his _Inspectora_ had her arms around him. If it wasn’t for taking her safely to her destination, he would have thrown himself off a cliff from being overwhelmed. Trickles of electricity shot through him from how her fingers clutched the button stance of his suit and how they were compressed together in space that he shared with her. 

Salva grew up lurking in the shadows of mystery, in the fortress of his seclusion where guilt, anger, fear, and revenge took over its roof—thus, his negligence in forming relationships he had no idea would last. This was the first time he let someone in his personal space. He wasn’t sure where he got the courage to offer her a ride, but somehow liking her and her company was enough reason to blow his responsibilities away in a whoosh. 

He realized this was his time of transcendence; a development from his usual enigma. For once, he didn’t care about the answer sheet they took home for further questioning that he planned to carefully fill in to make it to the jury. That could wait. Salva couldn’t resist the effect she had on him. 

Salva didn’t regret looking back at the courthouse when he was headed home that late afternoon. If he did, he wouldn’t have the whole divinity of Raquel Murillo pressed to his back even if it still made him quite nervous that he would freak out any moment from her touch. 

A few blocks past a local convenience store and they finally reached her ex-husband’s house. It deepened his curiosities even more. What exactly would she do here? Frankly, he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation since he just met her last night, and never did she mention a former spouse. Maybe it wasn’t worth the mention but who was he to presume? 

He parked the motorcycle in front of an ordinary-looking suburban residence with faux vineyards all over its walls and a black SUV on the driveway. Without a word, Raquel got off, her hands pressing down on his firm shoulders for support. Salva hoped she didn’t feel him shiver from how her hands soothed his nerves and made them run around his body in circles at once. She took off her helmet, and he swore he saw her hair cascade with the breeze in slow motion. He gaped at her as she offered him back the helmet with a small smile. 

“Thank you so much,” Raquel said, combing her hair with her fingers.

Salva pushed his helmet from his head, took the one he let her use, then hung it on the handle. “No problem,” he assured her. “You can always call me for a ride.”

Raquel chuckled, straightening her pantsuit. “Really, thank you.”

Their gazes earnestly met, making her take a step closer to him enough to make him quiver again. Suddenly, her smile faded when she turned to the house, drawing out a look of agitation on her face. “I may be asking a lot from you today and I know it’s stupid to ask one more thing but,” she swallowed, “can you wait for me here until I get back? I-If I’m not bothering your plans for tonight if you ever have some. Is it okay?”

Salva tilted his head and studied her eyes, seeing hesitation as if she wanted him to take her away from this place instead of what she initially asked him to do. He could only offer a look of concern. Something might not be right. “What’s wrong, Raquel?”

She looked down on the ground and bit her lip. “I came here to see my daughter.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be excited?” Salva asked innocently. 

Raquel shook her head, glancing at the direction of the house then turned back at his. Then it hit him—it turned out his gut feelings were right. The problem was not about having to see her daughter. It was her former spouse that was causing her frustration of some sort. 

They barely knew each other, but Salva didn’t think twice about looking out of her. If this was to make Raquel more comfortable (assuming that was the reason she was asking him the favor), he would do it just for her.

“I’ll wait for you.”

Raquel exhaled in relief then reached for the hand that was resting on his lap. He stared at the way she rubbed his knuckles and forced his adrenaline to retreat its forces. “I’ll be right back to fill you in.” 

⚖️

  
  


There was an array of strong feelings a betrayed partner like Raquel had held on to through the months of being miserable. No, emptiness wasn’t one of them. It had dissipated in the process of distractions and all, to her relief. 

It wasn’t possessiveness, either. It was a known psychological fact that separation of some sort gives way to an increase of attraction so there would be tendencies of the thought of your former partner being with someone else provoking a longing to pull him back to you. Gross. She would never want him back.

It was the anger that stayed through the storm towards moving forward, and it only poured even worse when he started to be strict with how many times she would be allowed to visit Paula. What could she do? 

First, he cheated on her. Next, he cheated on the law to win the custody battle, and then he decided to take away a chunk of her quality time with their child. Yet no matter how enraged she was with the unfairness of the situation, Raquel didn’t want to make things worse with a fuss every time she came face to face with the man.

This time though, she was sick of the rules she had to follow just not to add more tension between her and her ex-husband so that seeing her daughter could be more convenient. She had decided to come uninvited for the first time in months. There was nothing wrong with wanting to see your daughter after weeks of deprivation from her presence. 

There was no doubt Raquel was suffocated by the tight air that the house contained, and she wished it could have been her former spouse who was dragged into discomfort at least once in his goddamn life. How dare he acted like she was a danger to her daughter's life as if he wasn’t the one who tore them apart for a temporary piece of pleasure.

The taste of mortification she had fed him after she found out about the cheating wasn’t enough, after all. 

However, a sinking feeling of vulnerability overtook her resilience the moment she took a step in his place. She felt as if she was taken back to the time when she had no control over the situation. 

That was the reason why she let Salva stay. Even if she barely knew him, she just felt deep down she could trust him. She needed someone to run into when things would get ugly since the feeling of her courage draining out from her complicated situation had gone rogue on her stability. 

Alberto Vicuña poured cheap vodka on a couple of glasses from his cupboard, shooting Raquel irritated glances each time he took a breath.

“Is Paula really asleep?” she impatiently asked, standing up from the couch to idle with whatever plain-ass home decoration she could find on his shelf.

Shrugging, he came over her to hand over a glass. “Just as any other parent would, I don’t just let my daughter show up for uninvited guests.” 

“So she’s not sleeping?” she asked, scrutinizing him. She shook her head to refuse his offer so he placed the glass of vodka on the center table.

Avoiding the question, he drained his glass. “You forced yourself in my house.” 

Raquel huffed then inhaled deeply to keep herself together. She didn’t want her daughter to see her having an emotional outburst when she would come down, or at least if her ex-husband would even let them see each other. “I am her _mother_.”

“ _Exactly,_ ” he shot back. “You were the one who didn’t piece this family back together, who threw me out of my own house, who wanted to take my daughter away from me. Would you expect a child to trust the only person who could have fixed-”

“IT WAS NEVER MY JOB TO FIX WHAT _YOU_ HAD BROKEN IN THE FIRST PLACE,” Raquel spat, tears misting her eyes as she quivered in despair. For months, she battled with the drought of not always being able to know how her daughter was doing and it crumbled her in a way that made her feel numb. Truly, she couldn’t stand this man. “That’s very bold of you to justify your mistakes with what you thought I had failed to do. And I just came here to see Paula. What’s the point of being too possessive? You’re unbelievable.”

“Paula is _mine,”_ he insisted as he sneered at her. 

“Paula’s just yours to look after. After that, she’ll become her person, and I’ll make sure she won’t grow up into someone like the irrational person that you are.”

“If you can get her back.”

“I always find ways, Alberto.”

He smirked and firmly crossed his hands on his chest. “If you can.” 

Raquel wiped her tears then stood straight, peering into the eyes of the man who could bend the law in unimaginable ways. Someday, she would come back to make sure he gets what he deserves, though she would have to figure that part out. “Where is she? Do not ever restrict my rights or else... ” 

Alberto rolled his eyes. “Fine. She’s sleeping over a friend’s house.”

Letting out a satirical chuckle, she rubbed her forehead in frustration. _Son of a bitch_. “You couldn’t even tell me where she is.”

“It’s not like you should know.”

She paused, flexing her jaw then gritting her teeth. “You are out of your mind.”

He blankly twitched up his shoulders. “Then what, you’re gonna therapize me for that?”

“That’s it. I’m done,” Raquel grabbed her handbag from the couch then went straight to the doorway, wiping the tears that exuded on her cheek. “Tell Paula I dropped by and that I miss her but you probably won’t so don’t bother anymore.” 

  
  


⚖️

  
  


Salva steadied the motorcycle between his legs, his feet sticking to the ground as he took out Raquel’s pen that he wasn’t able to return and the set of questionnaires they took home.

He told himself he didn’t have to worry about the jury selection tonight, but perhaps he could spare a few minutes going over the questions while he was waiting for her. 

**Do you smoke cigarettes?**

**If so, how long have you smoked?**

**If so, has it become a habit?**

**And if so, have you thought of cutting off from it?**

**Has anyone personally acquainted with you suffered any disease and illness directly associated with smoking? (If so, please state the person’s name, nature of the disease, your relationship with the person, and whether or not the person was treated effectively. The board will do its best to keep to the information within its authorized range of assessment.)**

**In your personal belief, smoking cigarettes can cause:**

  * **Lung damage**


  * Heart disease


  * Fertility problems


  * Pregnancy complications


  * Type 2 diabetes


  * Weakened immune system


  * Vision problems


  * All of the above



He frowned. They couldn’t just treat the last item as something subjective when in fact, it was already scientifically-proven. 

But Salva could only shake his head. This was a bad idea. Scrutinizing the substantialities of the questions would be a waste of time. He looked up to the house to see if Raquel was going out of it already, but he figured she would have to take her time with her daughter so she might not be leaving anytime soon. That meant he had more minutes to go over the file. 

He flipped the page, then scanned through the entirety of the next. 

**State your notion on the issue of tax dollars being used to medical care for smoking-related health matters.**

**State your notion on the issue of the prohibition of smoking cigarettes in all public areas of the state.**

**What rights do you think smokers should have?**

The next page was a list of twenty lawyers that officially handled the case and another list of sixty others that happened to be in the same field. 

**Have you ever been acquainted with or represented by any of these lawyers in any legal matter?**

Salva peered down on the list of potential witnesses including Lena Schneider and almost jumped off the vehicle when he spotted a name that brought a rush to his nerves. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

And then the question: **Do you know any of these people?**

Before he could even fabricate a sensible denial, his head jolted up to the sound of the metal gates screeching across the street. It was Raquel rushing back in tears, her arms draped around herself. 

A small part of Salva was grateful she came out to divert his attention from whatever bemused him when he was checking out the questionnaire but since she did it in an unstable state, he still couldn’t seem to ease himself. He shoved the pen and paper into his bag then quickly got off the motorcycle in a growing concern he had for Raquel. 

She stood beside him on the pavement, with him mentally freaking out and wondering how to handle someone crying—well, it wasn’t just someone. It was Raquel, still not an ocean he had permission to dive in but a river to flow with, nonetheless. It turned out he didn’t have to even try to comfort her since she seemed to have pulled herself together swiftly before she could even crash into his arms. But Salva wasn’t in terms of the fact that this woman just came out of the house of her former spouse crying. Perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to let her know he was there for her with a simple gesture. 

“Raquel, can you tell me what happened?” he asked, hesitantly lifting a hand on the small of her back.

Salva had expected her to at least say something about it, but instead, he ignored his question as she wiped her face with a handkerchief she fished from her pocket. He suddenly withdrew his hand in regret. 

“There’s a corner store seven blocks away. Let’s grab some wine,” Raquel said, sniffing the residue of her crying and grabbing her helmet. 

Even though Salva had no idea what went on inside her ex-husband’s house, he wordlessly hopped in with her and drove to their destination as fast as he could, gritting his teeth as he felt her tight grip to his suit on the way.

They arrived at the store in no time, stopping in front of a small building with a neon _Open_ sign on the glass door. Raquel immediately got down on her feet. “Salva, come with me,” she muttered to him as he unhooked his helmet. She furiously marched inside without waiting for him. 

Salva stood there, wondering if he made the right choice of taking Raquel there because she might get herself in trouble. _What if she snaps at the cashier? What if she breaks something out of compulsivity? What if…_

He forced himself not to project his inhibitions and tendencies of being uncontrollable onto her. If there was someone who could be more collected between them in times like this, it was Raquel. Salva had to admit he could be unrepressed when infuriated. Due to his lack of emotional connection with people, he would often compare himself to them and figure out what he would have in common with everyone he meets. This was his way of forming an association. 

Salva wanted to pinch himself for not drawing the line between looking out for similarities and extrapolating his characteristics to people—especially when this was Raquel, the only friend he unexpectedly made in this mission of his. 

Concerning his wariness, Salva had initially decided not to form personal relationships with any of the prospective jurors. It wasn’t that he could do so, anyway, but not getting close to someone was a precautionary measure from the jeopardy of taking this trial sideways. But tonight he was just Salva, whom Raquel was counting on, and not the uncompromising Salvador Martin he had chosen to paint all over himself.

He unhooked his helmet, pushed it over his head, then walked over the entrance.

  
  


⚖️

  
  


Somehow, the overhead lights and the familiar atmosphere of the only place Raquel would always dash to when she gets into a state of distress from the house seven blocks away kept her nerves in facilitation. She was in a state of coping up since she was sensing stress taking a toll on her body—specifically her knees. They felt weak from the constant reckoning of a force that was so vulnerable yet overpowering. She might as well toss a coin to the gods and leave the tragedy of her ex-husband in their hands while she thought of ways to finally see her daughter. 

Right now, Raquel could only grab a bottle of red wine from the shelf, make her way to the counter, and slip her credit card out from her purse. 

She heard the door chimes cackle and Salva appearing in the entrance with what seemed to be a look of relief or concern - though it was honestly hard to tell because he was Salva and she found his expressions rather ambiguous. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, hesitantly walking over her direction as he clutched his satchel.

“Yeah. Why?” 

Salva looked around the store and as if he was worried she might have furiously thrown some products somewhere. Raquel had to admit to herself she would have but she could not do that here for obvious reasons. Besides, her anger started to dissipate the minute she got out of the house to meet Salva, which was a good sign.

Meg, the woman with a heavy accent on the counter cleared her throat as she swiped the card. “Tough talk with your ex?”

Raquel shrugged. “You guessed it.”

The young Mexican woman turned to Salva as if she was spilling gossip. “She always drops by for a drink whenever she visits her daughter. I asked why the first time she got here. It turns out Mr. Ex-husband’s an asshole for always provoking her. That’s how Raquel and I started talking.”

He pursed his lips then looked at Raquel as if to ask if it was true. 

“Meg here is a friend of mine who still doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut,” she casually told him, eyeing the woman with a glare.

The cashier observed Salva from head to toe. “At least, you’ve got yourself a boyfriend now.”

He froze and continuously shook his head, eyes swiping from Meg and Raquel. “We-we’re not...She’s not...I’m not…” 

The cashier’s jaw dropped open, then Raquel started to silently chuckle as she bit her lip. “Salva here is just a friend of mine,” she said matter-of-factly, though she wasn’t sure if it was right to put a _friends_ label over a relationship that hadn’t lasted for a full two days. But she reminded herself this was Salva; they happened to be in the same trial, they had talked, they had kissed. Maybe _friends_ would be the safest way to wrap them up. At least, for now. Not that she wanted to see how far they would go. 

“Never mind, then.” Meg rolled her eyes but it was clear she didn’t believe them. She handed the card back to the older woman. “Take care, you two.”

Raquel grabbed the wine bottle and her card back. “I’ll see you soon, Meg,” she regarded the girl, then turned to Salva as they started walking away. “Let’s get going.” 

“And Raquel?” 

She looked over her shoulder to Meg on the counter who was widely smiling at both of them. “I’m rooting for your appeal to the court.”

“Thanks. I’ll see what I can do,” Raquel called out in assurance before letting Salva open the door for her. 

“I honestly thought you were going to burst in there,” he whispered to her ear once they were out.

She frowned, “Seriously?”

“But I knew you won’t. You still have to fill me in with more of what she said back there though.”

Raquel handed him the wine. “Hold this first,” she said as she slipped her card back into her purse. 

Salva lightly drummed his fingers on the bottle. “So where do you want me to take you?”

She thought about it for a moment, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. Where else would she let him take her to talk about herself as a step to getting to know each other? It would be too formal if it was held in her favorite restaurant, which happened to be one of the fanciest ones in town. The dignified woman in her wouldn’t go back to Hanoi after how Marseille interrupted them last night. And wouldn’t let him in her place (yet). Not that she was testing their boundaries to see how often she could cross it.

This wasn’t a date, was it? Or maybe it was. Maybe not. Raquel thought she didn’t have to answer that. She was simply venting out to a _friend_ to make up for the times when she didn't have an actual one. Besides, Salva seemed to be willing to accompany her for the night. This was supposed to be harmless and pressure-less.

She exhaled the tightness in her lungs she didn’t realize she was feeling. “Take me anywhere.”

Salva swallowed. “Are you sure?”

It was crazy, but she had spent enough time with him to know she could trust him. His earlier concerns and gestures would attest to that. “Yes. If you can think of a place where we can be alone.”

He gave her a decisive nod. “You said something about telling me a story under the stars back at the courthouse.” 

Raquel narrowed her eyes. A while ago, her mind was clouded with the thought of her daughter and ex-husband so she wasn’t sure if he was right. “I said that?”

Salva hummed in affirmation. “And I know a place.”

  
  


⚖️

  
  


The park by the Saddle River settled peacefully on fertile soil as it stretched in seductive curves by the grassy banks with surprisingly empty picnic areas and courts. It was quiet, with only a gaggle of geese cackling somewhere in the bushed area. Raquel found it convenient enough for them so she let him lead her to a spot near the edge. There was only one problem.

“There are no stars tonight,” Salva said longingly, resting his hands on his hips while he stared at the night sky. 

“That’s alright.” Raquel held out the bottle of wine. “We have this.” 

He paused and considered it for a second. “Fine,” Salva muttered as he took off his jacket, spread it on the grass, and sat on it. He slid to the side to make space for her. “Right here.”

Beaming in contentment from their little set-up, Raquel slid off her bag from her shoulders and joined him on his makeshift mantle of an Italian garment piece. Mirroring his position, she folded her legs and casually laid a hand on his thigh, making him secretly shiver inside. “This is nice.”

“And peaceful,” Salva added to her remark.

“And practical.”

He turned to her, eyes tracing the small details of her moonlit face. “And beautiful.” 

She caught him staring and shook her head, a splatter of crimson all over her cheeks. “Stop flattering me.”

Salva just let out a nervous chuckle, since he had no idea what he was doing at the moment. He just knew he liked staring at her, which was the one thing he had a hard time admitting to himself. “Am I flattering you?”

Raquel raised her eyebrows. “Stop being so entitled for my self-satisfaction.”

“Let me rephrase the question then: Are you flattered?” 

She let out a laugh, lifting her palm to a hand to cover her mouth then laying it back on his thigh. “I mean, you’re not wrong,” she playfully shrugged. 

Salva gaped at how she executed such poise in the midst of whatever bothered her at her ex-husband’s house just an hour ago. But he had to admit he wasn’t wrong. Out of all the people he made connections with, what he had with Raquel felt different; and that goes beyond the fact that he was drawn towards her physical attributes. 

“You know yourself well. That’s great.”

Raquel let her lips curl into a small smile but she suddenly remembered the faculty behind the far-fetched perception of embracing herself. She dropped a wistful gaze on the ground, nails scratching the bottle between her legs. 

“I could lose myself anytime soon, anyway. Might as well make the most out of my self-esteem while I still can.”

Salva’s smile immediately faded at her words, his curiosity deepening into a hole that could be impossible to reach. “Raquel, I…”

She cut him off, swallowing the urge to tear up. “You want to hear my story, right?”

He nodded hesitantly, realizing how much this has been bringing her down - whatever this was. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for her to let it all out just like that. “Do you want me to hear it?”

“Of course. We’re getting to know each other, right?”

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

Raquel bit her lip. Yes, she wanted this. She had to do this. She kept her wounds to herself for quite some time that it slowly consumed her alive. She had been dealing with every inconvenience with only her therapist to guide her. It made her sick. Of course, it was good she was getting professional consultation since she couldn’t do it herself. 

But, Raquel needed an actual friend—not the type that would slap her for reality checks, nor the one that would always show up every second of her life; just the one that would listen and give her the affection she needed. 

There he was: sitting on his suit jacket on the grass, keeping a balance of ineptness and dexterity in his composure, patiently waiting for her doors to open for the sake of venting out her pain. Raquel didn’t know if Salva was who she needed at this time of her life, but he was there and that was enough. 

“Paula means the world to me,” she began, twisting the wine bottle open. “She grew up being mama’s girl. We would always bake cupcakes every Friday night. I would be her Science tutor after school. Sometimes, I take her to hours-long drives to the beach on weekends. But I can’t do that anymore.”

Salva adjusted himself beside her so he was bending his knees close to his chest, carefully listening to her. 

“It all started when my ex-husband cheated on me. I had always been faithful to him because he promised me happiness and I fell for it. I don’t blame him for having to promise that as it’s human nature to assure security in a relationship. That’s how most people get to keep their partners. But sometimes, those promises get more shallow and shallow over time then turn to be just wishful thinking. That’s when you know that it’s not love.”

Raquel took a quick swig from the bottle, letting the bitterness of the wine spike on the roof of her mouth to ease the heaviness that started to crawl on her stomach. “Here, have some,” she said as she placed the bottle on his lap.

Salva picked it up then hesitated, putting on a mixture of primness and fragility on his face. “You know how drinking wine like this doesn’t exactly reflect the flavor proportionalities of the wine?”

“I should’ve stolen a couple of wine glasses from my ex, then,” Raquel managed to joke despite almost tearing herself down from her own story, but she was glad someone like Salva was giving it a listen. 

He slightly chuckled, bringing the bottle to his lips then finally closing in his mouth around its open end to have the drink run down to his throat. 

“That’s the spirit,” she remarked, giving his broad shoulder a light pat. “You can always break the rules, Salva. I mean, you made me run away with you in an authorized area of the courthouse just to…” Raquel trailed off, avoiding the mention of one of the two things that could make the air between them awkward—the first one being the hook-up they never got to have the other night. 

Salva seemed to understand it when he rigidly nodded his head as he tucked his glasses on his nose. 

Silence fell over them, having her look around the place and him taking one more swig of the wine. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good, either. But what made it seem special was the company. The silence made Salva nervous, so he cleared his throat and turned to her. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he croaked out, “What happened there?

Raquel tilted her head to look at him. “At the house?”

He nodded, keeping up with his empathy. 

“My ex-husband won the custody case so I only get to visit upon his permission. The court did not impose that rule, he did. And…” 

She gulped, her eyes reflecting the solemn water in the short distance. “And it’s hard for me because I’m doing nothing wrong to deserve this. He made up stories about me being an alcoholic when I wasn’t always drinking. He even planted hard evidence and made friends with the judge just to prove I can’t handle raising our child. But in fact, _this_ situation he put me in is what’s making me drink every goddamn day.

“There isn’t a day when I don’t question my worth. It’s been two years, Salva. _Two years._ That’s the reason why I quit the force. Because he was there too and I couldn’t stand seeing his face in the headquarters. But I’m free now.”

Salva brought his hand on her back, hoping the warmth of the contact would somehow give her comfort. “How’s your daughter?”

Raquel shook her head miserably. “I never got to see her today. Alberto said she’s at her friend’s. I didn’t want to believe at first, but I know it when a pathological liar is in one of their rare honest moments. I had a little bicker with him a while ago—well, I always do when I go there. It didn’t go well like most of our fights. I came there because I just miss her so much.”

This time, Salva wrapped his arm around her shoulder and urged her to lean on, then she buried her face in him, letting his fingers run through the softness of her hair. He sighed. He wasn’t exactly a fan of affection, but it was what she needed and it was what he would gladly offer anytime. “You’re so strong. I hope you know that. You don’t deserve to be hurt by anyone.”

Raquel hummed in contentment. “God, you smell so nice.”

Salva smiled and felt embarrassed at how he blushed, granting her the distraction she needed. He reached for the wine bottle that he placed on the grass earlier then handed it out to her. “Wine?”

Raquel looked up at him, then at the bottle. “I might need something else.” She pulled herself off him and fumbled through her bag for a pack of cigarettes. She opened it, tamped the back on her palm, and held out a stick. “Light me up?”

He adjusted his glasses and slipped a hand in his satchel. “Does yours have a nicotine level of 8.3 milligrams?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think so.” She peered on its cover to check, frowning at the small printed text. “10.2 milligrams.”

“Ah,” Salva exclaimed when he seemed to find what he was looking for in his bag then held out a piece of lighter and his pack of cigarettes. “Mine has a lower concentration. This is much safer.”

Raquel leaned in closer to him, studying the pack he was holding. “I can’t believe you actually smoke.”

“Not regularly. Just in stressful hours,” he clarified.

“Me, too.” 

“It’s not advisable to be seen smoking while we’re in the middle of the jury selection of a huge tobacco company trial but if there’s one thing I learned from you, it’s how to confidently break the rules,” he said, handing out his pack for her to pull out a fresh stick. 

“As you should,” Raquel said as she grabbed the lighter from him. She sucked the stick, rolled the metal spark wheel to the ignition, and placed the end of the cigarette on the flame. 

Salva watched her pull a little smoke in her mouth, his eyes traveling from her lips to the glimmering stud on the side of her nose. He looked down when he realized what he was doing, getting a hold of the wine bottle to take a quick hot gulp. 

Raquel took a glance at him while she let the burning sensation linger from blowing out the smoke through her nose.

“Do you still need the wine?”

“That’s essential, you know.”

“Right.” 

He handed her the bottle and she drank quite a lot from it, making him wince at how desperate she was for even the littlest ways of escape from reality. He had the urge to put that genuine smile on her face back, so he didn’t hesitate to lay off a card. “Tell me more about Paula.”

Raquel’s eyes slowly lit up, not from the alcohol, not from the smoke, but the mere mention of her daughter. Somehow, he loved it when she talks about something she adores with all her heart. She handed him the cigarette and the wine bottle for him to consume as if these were his popcorn to the movie she was about to show.

Raquel adjusted herself beside him. “Paula loves to read. _The School for Good and Evil._ That’s her favorite. She’s got every edition of that series. Whenever she gets the chance to, she talks about how it goes beyond the line that’s drawn between good and evil and some stuff about vivid imagery. Even made a non-mandatory book report about it. I’m impressed, actually, of her comprehension and her analysis.”

Salva adjusted his glasses and inclined himself closer to her, intrigued. “Something tells me she got this from you.”

Raquel happily nodded. “Of course, she did.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirteen.” 

He gaped at her. “She’s smart. Wise, even. I mean, for her age.”

“I’m guessing you’ll get along when you meet her.”

“I can’t wait for that day to come.”

She turned to him. “How about you? I hope you don’t have an overly-possessive ex-wife and a child you’re still not allowed to see because that’s the worst that could happen.”

Salva blew off the smoke he had just inhaled. “I don’t do relationships.”

Raquel tried her best not to give him a pained look, then mentally pinched herself back to her best composure. What was she thinking? It wasn’t like they would easily settle for each other. “Why not?”

“I have no idea how to commit,” he admitted. _Careful_ , Salva told himself. He didn’t want the wine slipping out information from him just like that. 

“Not doing relationships doesn’t mean you’ve never done them before, am I right?”

“I’ve had a couple in the past. None of them worked, as you can infer.”

She stared at him, wondering how far she could wander in his fortress. “I understand. You’re usually reserved, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I enjoy companies with minimal stimulation and sometimes social interaction drains my energy,” Salva answered, then realized the way he had worded it might be a little wounding for her. He looked at her earnestly. “Oh, that doesn’t mean I don’t like this. I’m enjoying your company so much. Please don’t be offended.”

Raquel shook her head, suppressing a laugh with the back of her hand. “You’re adorable.”

“I guess you are, too,” he shot back, making her giggle. 

They stayed like that for a while, sharing the same bottle of wine and exchanging cigarette sticks, when a goose waddled its way to them as it uttered a nasal honk.

Raquel drifted her attention from Salva to the goose. “Hi, there.”

“That’s a Canada goose,” he said, pointing at the bird. “It’s the common park species of it. 

Often considered a pest because of its noise and aggressive territorial behavior.”

She frowned. “A pest?”

“That’s what my resources say. Though I disagree since humans are the ones intervening with nature. Therefore, we are the pests in their habitat.”

“Quite hypocritical that you brought me here.”

“Well, this has been the place where I cope up when life gives me too much workload. Besides, we’re a part of nature. It’s not like we’re fully bothering them.”

“I think Goose here says otherwise,” said Raquel, gesturing to the animal which stifled another honk. “Right, Goose?”

Salva chortled. “Why do you love to talk to animals?” he asked, recalling the moment he first met her through Marseille’s cat.

Raquel just smiled, raising her shoulders and eyebrows. “We’re calling him Goose now.”

“Like he’s ours.”

“Exactly. We’ll look for him the next time we come here to say hi.”

They watched Goose toddle back to its gaggle by the bushes. “Bye, Goose,” she squeaked, wriggling her fingers to its direction. 

Salva tapped her shoulder to get her attention. “We’re befriending a goose now?”

Raquel swiveled her head to him. “We’re _looking after_ a goose now.”

“So...we have a goose now?”

“We barely know each other for twenty-four hours and now we have a goose. Isn’t that cute?” she mused.

“I’m guessing the wine is taking over you, Raquel. Do you need some water?”

She drowsily shook her head. “No. I’m completely fine. In fact, we’re taking full custody of Goose. Both of us,” she fondly uttered, not realizing the trust they were building around them. 

Salva snickered, but it soon vanished when he discerned the fact that what Raquel was doing went beyond her fondness of animals. Her opening up to him about her daughter must have caused a lot of distress to her faculties, so she was conveying her longing to the goose. He felt genuinely sorry for her.

Raquel took another generous sip of the wine and gave the river a rueful leer, suddenly remembering Meg’s words in the corner store. “Do you think I can be consulted to file an appeal? I haven’t been so decisive about beating Alberto in court considering what he did.”

“The court has reached its final ruling, right?”

She nodded, waiting for him to get to his point.

“You can appeal anytime to take the case to the higher court. But you won’t be able to present new evidence and testimonies.”

“That’s alright. As long as he gets to have his so-called hard evidence examined again.”

“You can try. Do you know a lawyer for that?”

“Yes. But I’ll work on it after the trial.”

Salva put his hand over hers. “Just like Meg and everyone else who loves you, I’m rooting for you.”

Raquel gave him her most sober smile. “Thanks, Salva. You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here.”

He grinned, bit his lip, then checked his wristwatch. “It’s getting late. Would you like to go somewhere else? Should we get something to eat?”

“Food would be great.”

“Right,” he said, standing up then lending out his hand to help her do the same. He picked up the wine bottle and discarded cigarettes from the grass. “Wait for me here. I’ll just put these in the bins.”

“Sure.”

Salva walked to the line of benches away from Raquel, finally having the time and place to let today’s events register in his mind. 

_The trial has just started…_

_He is hoping his plan will go well…_

_He kissed Raquel during the recess…_

_Raquel kissed him during the recess..._

_He is with Raquel now…_

_She’s wonderful…_

_Salva, stop thinking about the plan…_

_He’s about to get dinner with her…_

_That’s enough, she’s waiting for you._

“Salva?” she called to him.

Salva shook off his thoughts and tossed the cigarette butts in the bin, slipping the bottle inside his bag as he jogged his way back to Raquel who was getting rid of the dirt from his suit jacket. 

She handed it back to him when she had finished then feasted her eyes on him folding it until it was able to fit inside his satchel. To deflect herself from the sight, she decided to break the silence.

“I know a place fifteen minutes away,” Raquel suggested. “How does chicken parm sound to you?”

Salva put a hand over his grumbling stomach. “It’s making me hungry. Let’s get going.”

  
  


⚖️

  
  


They sat across each other on the booth outside the diner since they weren’t comfortable with the people inside, chomping on chicken parm sandwiches and seldom paying attention to the bland soda that came with it. 

“Tell me something about yourself,” Raquel urged him, wiping the sauce off the side of her mouth with a paper towel.

Salva placed his food on the plate. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

There are so many things she was yet to digress out of him, so many issues she was yet to discover, so many little details he wanted her to know, and he chose to tell her something basic. “I love to read.”

Raquel simply nodded a few times. “Surprising.”

“I know.”

“Since when have you started reading?” she asked out of her most genuine curiosity.

He took his time to remember, grabbing his soda from the table and sipping a small quantity of it. “Since I was four, I think. My mom was able to help me develop my comprehension skills in the early semester of my childhood.”

Her jaw dropped open. “Are you for real?”

“Yep. And my dad taught me how to hunt back when we were in North Carolina.”

“Okay. Now, that’s surprising.”

“But no, I don’t shoot actual animals. Dad would place a teddy bear on a treetop and that would be my target.”

“Very considerate and ecological.”

“That’s just human basic decency.”

“Point made.” Raquel chuckled, her endearment for the man growing inside her. “Your family. Are you still living with them?”

He paused, temporizing the balance of his emotions and rationalities. How was he supposed to say something that would ruin the atmosphere? He couldn’t lie to her. He’d been hiding his true intentions on the trial to everyone, for his father’s sake. 

_Careful._

“They’re...gone.”

She swallowed in guilt, audibly not seeing that coming. “Oh. I’m so sorry Salva,” she said, reaching for his hand across the table and squeezing it. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”

“Raquel, it’s okay.”

Salva bobbed his head as he fixed his glasses on his nose. She saw his lashes twitching over his eyes and she tried to stop him from talking about it if he couldn’t but he insisted by holding out his palm. 

“I was an only child, but since my parents died I’ve lost the tenacity of being someone’s socially inept son,” he filled in sentimentally. 

Out of due consternation, Raquel gazed at his eyes that hinted grief for a moment then went back to its usual fiddly expression. “You know what? You’re strong, too. I hope you know that.”

A small smile formed on Salva’s lips, feeling the easefulness that her company was shrouding him. “Let’s finish our food, shall we?”

And so they ate, talking and laughing over Salva’s fond memories when he was a child; from the time he threw up in the airplane the first time he flew overseas, to the time he earned a scar on his arm when he was learning how to ride a bike, to the first relationship he fucked up, to the time he was kicked out of law school for “gravely” questioning his professor’s political stance, then to his absurd teaching experiences. 

After dinner, they decided to call it a night, feeling their restlessness taking over them. It had been a long day of hearing lawyers blabber about this and that, having to bore themselves out from the actual selection process, and taking no adequate rest.

Salva drove her home, no more apprehension this time as she rode with him because they had grown more comfortable with each other throughout the night. 

They were right outside her house now, not having the urge to let go of each other’s hands despite knowing their early schedule for tomorrow’s continuation. 

“I had fun tonight,” she told him, caressing the back of his hand with her thumb. 

Salva tucked her hair behind her ear. “As did I.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, and Raquel leaned her face close to his under the luscious silvery moonlight and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, a waning a leaky white glow casting on their skin. Unlike those urgent ones he had from her during their rendezvous in the hour-long recess at the courthouse, this was more passionate and heartfelt. Although she didn’t plant it to his lips (it wasn’t like he was expecting her to), it didn’t stop the greener grasses from growing on the lawn of his heart with a ray of sunshine he had not ever been exposed to in his whole life until that dreamily intimate moment. 

It turned out it was fine they didn’t have the stars tonight since her eyes were enough to gaze upon.

With that, they were strangers no more. It vaguely sealed the question of where this was going, even if it took them two nights to get to know each other under different circumstances. They were certain this was going somewhere, and they didn’t want to interrupt the tracks of this train of mystery. They wanted to unravel more of the treasures they buried deeply on their chests. Even if it meant baring her scars in front of him. Even if it meant unveiling who he was to her…

_Even if it meant unveiling who he was to her…_

Salva shook the thought away. Maybe this wasn’t the right time for that, since this was a matter beyond his intentions on the trial. This was another dimension of his normalcy as a person; making a friend, talking, and _casually_ kissing. As much as he wanted to tell her everything, he didn’t want to drag her into this mess. He knew once the trial would proceed and he would hypothetically be a juror, it would be one hell of a legal disturbance. Raquel wouldn’t want to be a part of it. It would be safer for her to stay out of the trouble he would cause.

Salva closed his eyes as soon as she pulled away, letting the remnants of her lips embellish its mark on his skin. He let the now non-existent particles of her breathe mist his cheek with the warmth of crimson and the freshness of lilacs.

He opened his eyes to the glimmer that transpired from hers. She smiled in a blissful daze, intoxicated with the comfort he had brought to her. “You know, I didn’t realize I’ve been longing for someone to lean on until I met you.”

His lips twitched up in a smile. “I’m glad to be that someone.”

Raquel’s eyes traced a line from his nose to his lips. “It’s crazy how this is going so fast, isn’t it?”

“This doesn’t have to be fast. Unless you want to get rid of me as soon as possible…”

Her jaw dropped open, eliciting a playful show of narrowing her eyes. “I didn’t vent out everything to you just to put you back in your fortress.”

Salva drew out a husky giggle. “I was kidding.”

“I know. It’s not like I’ll throw a newly-found friend away just like that.” 

“Quite unethical for someone who takes pleasure in kissing her _newly-found friend_. Not that I’m complaining.”

They both erupted in laughter, wrapping themselves with the platonic blanket they slowly threaded through the night. 

Raquel then lifted her wristwatch to remind him of the time. “Salva, trial tomorrow.”

He pursed his lips. “Right. I gotta get going. Goodnight, Inspectora.”

She let out an impressed grin. “That’s the first time you’re calling me that tonight.”

“I know. Go get some sleep,” Salva advised.

“Goodnight. Please take care,” she said dreamily as he watched him start his motorcycle engine and drove through the empty streets. She could finally slam her door to her house and wonder about the new feeling that occurred in her heart. 

  
  


⚖️

  
  


Salva felt it, too. No matter how much he tried to deny it, the feeling was with him the whole time he was with her. But that wasn’t the only reason why he could not sleep.

**Do you know any of these people?**

He mixed his third cup of instant coffee and went back to his desk to study the questions.

He answered:

**_No._ **

**_No._ **

**_No._ **

**_No._ **

**_No._ **

**_No._ **

But he knew all of them. He knew Alfonso Prieto. He knew Luis Tamayo.

_Luis Tamayo._

The man whose company Salva was taking down. He knew him. Very well, even. 

He wrote his answers in practiced legibility, fully aware that there would be handwriting experts from both parties pondering on his penmanship rather than his answers to figure out his psychology. They would do that to everyone’s questionnaires. 

How did he know that? Of course, he was Salva. He always finds ways to know everything. That didn’t stop him from trying to make his answers as vague as possible. He wanted to appear neat and open-minded to hear both sides. 

The last thing he wanted was to scare either the plaintiff and the defendant. Because the first step to take down Reynolds Co. was to make it to the jury pool.

_For you, Father. If it wasn’t because of them you would still be here._

Salva slept at exactly half-past two, finding himself in comfort with the thoughts of Raquel Murillo and Raquel Murillo only. 


	7. As Sweet As Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The selection continues as a deeper level of closeness falls between Raquel and Salva

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I am so, so, sorry for the late update. Everything from the past few weeks has been nothing but catastrophic and my mental health hasn’t been better. I appreciate you guys for hanging on. I hope everyone’s doing well today. 
> 
> I’ve enjoyed writing this chapter for it just straight-up racked my brain on a hilarious level. 
> 
> — nic xoxo

_He clutched the hundred dollars hardbound copy of_ ** _Liberalism and the Limits of Justice_** _,_ _which was five months worth his salary from his part-time job at the market. Vehicular smoke followed him as he crossed the street where a Cadillac was waiting, apparently, for another boy of his age and not for him._

_The other boy was tall and dark, brows furrowed in exasperation of probably something that could be solved by money. It was the kind of problem people in his social class would never raise, because you can’t complain about minor inconveniences when you have bigger things to worry about._

_Money, for example. It was something the rich could easily throw away and the heavily debted would easily pick from where it is thrown. He peered at the nametag on the boy’s chest pocket, hiding behind a brick post near the parking space._

_R. Tamayo, it read, and the bells inside his head clamored._

_“Look at this boy living in his father’s paradise of paper bills and credits...” he muttered to himself, “while I’m wishing to turn every silt of my father’s grave to teardrops of gold.”_

_Sergio walked away and adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose._

⚖️

Being a woman who constantly forgets how much power and resistance she withholds between her fist, Raquel fought against her desperation to lay back down and sleep for the next couple of hours. 

_This_ is what staying up late for five consecutive nights could bear: eyelids twice the weight of her whole body and a handful of tiresome wishes to end the day as soon as possible. It was just a fortune to have a delightful consolation of two nights of good company and alcohol.

Raquel was barely awake but she already had her arm stretched over the nightstand, fingers stumbling across what felt like the base of the lamp, the alarm clock, her watch, then a book. She grunted, burying her face into the pillow and blindly grabbing hold of her phone.

Teal cascades of the early morning sun made its way through the curtains, basking her skin a different shade of gold. With the back of her hand rubbing her eyes for her to see clearer, she helped herself up against the headboard. She was sweatily drenched in the brief recollection of every moment that had passed that got her in a slightly confused state first thing in the morning. 

Last night was just a trail of haze across her memories, just as how clouds would walk the skies an inch per minute. There was only one fragment that could harken her back to consciousness that had gotten away from good night’s sleep, though. 

_Salva._

Her ever-concerned friend Salva, with whom she got wasted two nights in a row (No hook-up included in the package). 

Salva, with whom she had a little make-out session on the rooftop. 

Salva, who drove her to Saddle River just to make her forget about her ugly encounter with Alberto (That stupid son of a bitch). 

Salva, who told her it was not advisable to drink wine directly from the bottle but eventually decided it was fine. 

Salva, the man who agreed to have a goose with her (Or did he?). 

Salva, whose cigarette she took because it was safer to consume. 

Salva, who took her out to the best sandwich chain in the city. 

Salva, who had kissed under the waning moon in her front lawn (On the cheek. Please, it was romantic).

_Salva._

_God, she could make a book about him—her inferences from his personality and his life, how he talks, how he would keep his hand on the small of her back, how he would tick his specs on his freckled nose. And the freckles across his cheeks would make a nice whole chapter, too!_

Raquel let out an exasperated sigh, asking herself what had just resided in her mind, and she had nothing else to blame but the mental perception she would always have when she wakes up: just a pure, feisty murk of reality. 

She would wake up feeling disgusted by what she would have to do and eventually let her mind ease right after breakfast.

But today, she perceived reality like it was tinted in pink. Either there was something wrong with her or it was just a splendidly twisted morning. 

That was when she realized she still had her phone on her hand, and a small, optimistic part of her longed for something as good as a friend trying to catch up—until she remembered she only had one as of the moment, and it was a strange delight to see his name on her lock screen. There went the blast of butterflies on her stomach as she clicked on his message. 

_From: Salvador_

_Just a little question: Do you think we wouldn’t be where we are now without the tequila and whiskey?_

She raised her eyebrows, finding it odd to receive such a question. It wasn’t the right time to answer it, though. She hadn’t thought about the downside of a mere chance being either pulled into reality or pushed into waste. The only thing on her mind was pancakes and maybe Salva giving her an explanation for sending her a message at two in the morning, according to the timestamp of the text. 

She texted back: _Wouldn’t be where exactly?_

She sat on her bed, clueless as to why she was waiting for his response when she had to turn a few stones from her routine.

Reluctantly, she stood from her ruffled sheets and forced all of her weight on the carpet. Just standing there had made her dizzy enough, but she still made it to the shower even after almost stumbling upon her little bookshelf on the way. The usual routine of brushing her teeth, bathing in bubbles that smelled of fresh red roses, and abandoning her makeup on the rack for the fifth time in a row pretty much took over her morning—not to mention Salva’s smile being projected out of nowhere on the screen in her imagination.

As Raquel put on a blazer over her tank top, she managed to smile in front of the mirror as she was grateful for the mood she was in. Bearing in her mind was the fact that everything was going well so far; the jury selection, her substitute professor reporting that her students were doing great academically, Salvador Martin, and perhaps the chance of fixing matters involving her daughter. All she had to do was to keep the hope in her heart for as long as she could.

And then her phone vibrated again. She walked over from the full-length mirror on the corner of her room to the nightstand. Picking up her phone and unlocking it, she saw a glimpse of Salva’s message banner just under her mom’s request for a morning video call. She swiped her mother’s message off in the meantime, keeping a reminder to text back later. 

_From: Salvador_

_I see you’re awake. Good morning, Raquel._

Her smile went even wider as hearing from him felt like fireworks shooting every hormone inside her body.

She bit her lip, fingers knowingly tapping the screen of her phone. _Good morning, Salva :) Why were you still up at 2 am?_

It quickly vibrated with another message as she was about to put it back down to fix her hair.

_Salvador: I was thinking of a lot of things. It’s a habit, just so you know._

…

 _Now I know :) Does ‘a lot of things’ include me?_ she coaxed.

…

_Salvador: Maybe._

She bit her lip even harder like a teenager exploring the shallow depths of infatuation, finally throwing her phone on her bed after realizing the crossfire of prospects in her head. What if he was serious? What if he wasn’t? And why did she care? It wasn’t as if they were a thing—just friends with tendencies of platonic romantic affection. She was sure as hell it wouldn’t go deeper than that. 

It was pointless to think of it, anyway, given its prematurity for a connection that was made in less than a week.

She shook her thoughts away and rushed to the kitchen for breakfast. 

It was just a faint rustle of griddling butter on a nonstick skillet, flipping ounces of fluffy pancake mix, and grinding coffee beans for adamant sanity. 

Raquel sat on the counter, reading a hardbound copy of _The Power of Habit_ while taking slices and sips from time to time until her phone vibrated with yet another message from Salva: _Raquel?_

 _What?_ she texted back.

_Salvador: Do you think we wouldn’t be where we are now without the tequila and whiskey?_

_Raquel: I’ve read your text.  
_ _Raquel: Wouldn’t be where exactly?_

 _Salvador: I’ve read your reply.  
_ _Salvador: Let me reiterate._

_Salvador: Do you think we wouldn’t be as close as we are right now without the tequila and whiskey?_

Raquel was still intrigued by his approach to the question as it was fueled by upright curiosity, barely making either of them formidable to dismay. 

He had asked like he didn’t care about whether the genuine foundation of their fondness of each other didn’t matter; if it was sheerly coated by the alcohol or unfeigned by the conditions of their rationalities. 

He brought it up like he wouldn’t take satisfaction if she answered _No, alcohol doesn’t have anything to do with how I am starting to like you_. 

But instead, she tentatively typed out: _Are you really questioning the sincerity of our friendship?_

She had no idea how to respond until it hit her that he probably took all the courage in the world just to raise his concerns, as inept as he is. He had been all alone in his life and is sometimes unsure whether to gauge relationships until their roots are traced or leave them be. It was just fair on his part to cross her about their conjoined intentions. 

So she deleted her message and composed a new one.

 _I don’t think it’s because of the alcohol_ , she briefly stated.

Even with the undeniably genuine connection, it was rather pointless. Either way, she would gravitate back to him and the silly things they do even if he answered the opposite of what she wanted to say. That’s how much their momentous attraction and affection has taken them out of their respective disastrous bubbles. 

_Salvador: Hmm._

_Raquel: What?_

_Salvador: You’re friends with me not because you were driven by your non-sober decisiveness?_

_Raquel: I may be a little drunk every time I’m around you, except in court, but I know what I am doing :)_

_Salvador: So you knew what you were doing when you adopted a goose for us?_

_Raquel: Did you ask me the first question because I unofficially adopted a goose out of impulse and you’re thinking I might have done the same when I became friends with you?_ _Raquel: Don’t you trust me?_

_Salvador: I do._

_Salvador: I’m sorry._

_Salvador: I just can’t believe I’m with someone as extraordinary as you._

_Raquel: Oh.  
_ _Raquel: Is that a compliment?_

_Salvador: I was stating the truth. A compliment is meant to flatter you, while the truth lives up to the veracity of a solid inference. It may not seem like it but I was just being frank with you._

_Raquel: Wow._

_Salvador: Haha._

_Raquel: ?_

_Salvador: What are you trying to imply with the “?”?_

_Raquel: :)_

_Salvador: Raquel, I need a logical context of these symbols you’re sending._

_Raquel: 🤪_

_Salvador: Will you at least say no if you don’t want to tell me what you’ve been meaning to say instead of sending a cartoon conveyance of a facial expression?_

_Raquel: Emojis, Salva. They’re called emojis. Try using them._

_Salvador: I think they’re too unprofessional for me._

_Raquel: What am I, your boss?_

_Salvador. Still._

_Raquel: Just once._

_Salvador: Fine.  
Savador: 💦  
_ _Salvador: Here’s a visual representation of drops of water. That means I have to take a shower now._

 _Raquel: 🥞  
_ _Raquel: Here’s a stack of pancakes. That means I have to finish my food._

 _Salvador: Take care 😃_ _  
__Salvador: Just realized emojis expound the internal impression of a message. I might use it more often. Bye for now._

 _Raquel: Take care,_ _silly._

She went to do the dishes with a newly-opened perspective on the periphery of her consciousness, barely realizing the deep shade of crimson across her cheeks.

⚖️

Martin Berrote made the first bit of his fortune in the game of suing when a factory worker of a cigarette manufacturing company died of lung damage years ago. It was the first company liability suit that he won as a trial lawyer, which convinced him that he was one to be reckoned with. 

Berrote did well in law school and eventually topped the bar examinations—with the help of Andres de Fonollosa, his former _something_ back in college. At this extremity of his career of stalling himself with defending shoplifters and checking titles (like a normal lawyer would) in between huge cases, he didn’t expect to have to face this man again. 

All the immaturity they had to throw at each other in the whole duration of their “relationship” had just come to this—at the court years later, where they act like the educated people that they are and try not to make it personal. 

Before Berrote indulged himself in more tobacco litigation cases, the opportunity of handling asbestos litigation cases on the East Coast swept him off his feet. Then he began to sue the vulnerable parts of corporate America on behalf of their compromised workers and consumers. 

He met Lena Schneider through a friend who had prepared her late husband’s last will and testament. Wendall Schneider died at the age of sixty due to smoking a few packs of cigarettes every day for twenty years. He earned thirty thousand a year as a manager of a supermarket until the time of his death. 

It was no more than a case of a dead smoker and an indestructible capitalist, at least to a lawyer who has no ambition to make it big. But Martin Berrote was different. It was a case of a famous _dead smoker_ and _an indestructible capitalist._ Imagine the publicity he could get from that. 

He was a networker who made his way to a circle of product liability specialists that dream of grandiosity. That circle he was now a prominent part of made millions out of the same type of cases—failed breast implants, car accidents, and others that relatively involve injury or death. 

They met at least twice a month to summon the holy mother depository of torts. No other product in the world that’s legally registered to be manufactured had killed as many people as cigarettes. It so happened that their wealthy manufacturers had pockets deep enough to serve as their graves. 

Berrote invested the first cut of millions into the case then encouraged his desperate friends to join him. With the help of industry watchdogs, they were able to file suit in the Bergen Vicinage months earlier. 

There had been a bunch of sixty precedent cases before Schneider v. Reynolds, but most were either dismissed or ended in favor of the defendant, never of the plaintiff. It was a good time to change that with a controversial case that would keep the public buzzing. 

Therefore, at nine o’clock Tuesday morning, he proudly stood in front of the court in his fancy suit. The members of his team were officially introduced, and he regarded Lena Schneider a widow as sympathetic as he could; as if she was still on the mourning stage, that she hadn’t found another man to marry, that Berrote didn’t force her to abort her nuptials with the new guy to lessen complications. 

All that just to take down Reynolds.

The lawyer presented a summary of the case then pleaded to the prospective jurors to be honest and fair as possible. The defense lawyers glared at him and listened carefully to his words, getting ready to swoop Berrote off his feet if he would ever cross the thin line between fact and argument. He almost stuttered when he spotted de Fonollosa scrutinizing him from the crowd.

He chose not to give in to his intimidation and instead picked up his legal pad. “We have quite a small quantity of people who have served on civil juries before. Can I get a raise?” 

Eight people did with conformance and then Berrote started asking questions that, to the prospects’ disgrace, initially took an hour and a half. 

Somewhere along the packed rows of sleepy prospects, Raquel leaned closer to Salva, her wary gaze out for anyone from the pool might be batting an eye, but relaxed when she realized there wasn’t, at least none that she was aware of. “What’s taking them so long to move a short recess?” she whispered, barely looking in his direction. 

They hadn’t had the time to talk earlier this morning since the circuit clerk tried her best to be efficient by hurrying everyone inside the courtroom, ordering the other clerks to collect the questionnaires, and urging Berrote to proceed immediately. From then, there were only just stolen glances between them. 

He waited for Berrote to turn away from their direction and found the right moment to crouch next to her. “Are you hungry?” 

She nodded, pouting as she kept a frown to the direction of the judge who was the only person having the power to permit a break. If Salva only had it instead of the judge, she wouldn’t have been subtly whining beside him. 

As earnest as he was, Salva couldn’t accept that he had to convey lies to carry out his plan. Being a first timer in the prospects was one of them. He just didn’t raise his hand in an attempt to not bring any attention to himself. So far, it was working, since he couldn’t find at least one pair of eyes staring into his soul. 

Salva had been in a trial of the same type of case back in North Carolina. He needed to figure out a few things for the plan he had been trying to fabricate. It turned out to be a mistrial back then, and that couldn’t happen again. At least, not in this court he was in since taking down a huge company means taking down a larger quarter of the industry. 

Hence, he knew how everything worked in cases like this. Most likely, the jury would refuse to give a widow thousands of liability money, and the company would run again like it hadn’t been filed with a suit that had the potential to ruin the business. Just as he thought, that couldn’t happen again. Their greed was too much already and a lot of resources were overexploited. 

He _hated_ capitalists with so much passion.

“Aren’t you?” Raquel asked, her tone distinguishably at a level of annoyance which quickly shook him off from mentally celebrating his plan that was being orchestrated well.

Sergio turned to her, confused. “What?”

She sighed impatiently. “Hungry.”

“Maybe I am,” he answered, still trying to keep his voice low. He stared at the hint of grumpiness on her face, suppressing a snicker from how adorable she was. So, he fumbled for his breakfast inside the satchel: a pack of chocolate chip cookies with a generous circumference he had baked himself so he wouldn’t go out of the courthouse for recess. One for the morning session, one for the afternoon. But that didn’t matter now that this friend of his seemed to need something as huge as the cookies in her mouth as soon as possible.

He tapped her shoulder and offered her the whole package while keeping his eyes on Berrote approaching a bench to further examine a prospect. 

“I’m thinking you might want a piece of this,” he simply whispered. 

She scoffed, quite unsure if she should thank him for letting her give in to her cravings or punch his strong biceps for feeding her to the termination of the duty she had not even started fulfilling. “Salva, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to eat anything in a _courtroom_ ,” she murmured through gritted teeth. 

“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s not against your basic human rights to eat and be satisfied in the middle of a minor inconvenience such as a _huge_ corporate trial which is an irony, as you obviously can sense,” he quietly pondered, slightly unleashing sarcasm that she didn’t seem to bother her. 

He attempted a wink that made her blush a little, but an impulse of timidity snapped his expression back to being awkward. “Besides, my cookies are delicious.”

Raquel then inserted her hand inside the bag and held out a piece to him, contemplating how he had gathered so much courage to break the rules even with his social preservation. First, taking her to the rooftop, and now giving her cookies. A small part of her wanted to ask if he was just setting her up so she wouldn’t get in the jury pool, but this man was genuine and he had not laid out any intention to kick people off the duty for his advantage. “If I’m going to disobey the court etiquette, you might as well do it with me.”

To her pleasure and assurance, he took it without hesitation, taking a bite at the same time she did. “Hope they won’t mind,” he said, nudging as he shot a look at the deputy at the back of the room that was as sleepy as those in the jury prospects. 

She shrugged, taking another crunchy bite. “No one will.”

Another lie he had agreed upon. Somewhere around the room, Salva knew consultants were keeping an eye on everyone to confirm who would qualify for the service. It was supposed to make him conscious and uneasy, but something about the way Raquel was willing to lose a part of her composure in a courtroom just to eat made him realize that there are things in life that don’t need to be taken way too seriously. Her effect on him was out of his league to be comprehended.

They held a silent cookie toast, then he listened to her whisper about how he had baked it well, Berrote’s satire of a court proceeding drowning out from their ears. 

_No jury consultants being too obvious about their inspection. No one was keeping an eye on him. Somehow, he didn’t regret growing a beard and changing his name, because why would he risk not pushing through the plan he had been making since the last time he heard a gunshot from their old backyard?_

⚖️

The gavel was pounded on furnished wood, and that was the moment when a hundred prospective jurors jolted awake from the slumber they had been suppressing. 

_Ah, what a wonderful moment._ The whole process had bored them to death. To everyone’s relief, the selection would end tomorrow and the unlucky twelve who would yet to face a longer life sentence of hearing witnesses on the stand should have been chosen by then. 

To Salva, it didn’t discourage him. He was exultant for what would happen next. He was sure he _could be_ qualified since he filled out the forms and questionnaires impartially. He acted the way they wanted him to act which was not too detrimental for both parties. He _hoped_ and _hoped_ and _hoped_ until Raquel snapped him out of his trance. 

“Hey,” she said as they stood up from the bench. “Do you have any plans for this afternoon?”

He considered it. Tomorrow, he could officially make it into the jury pool, hence a few more polishing of steps on his plan would hasten his preparation. Yes, he had plans for this afternoon.

On the other hand, though, he had spent a couple of nights with her, and he had to admit that those nights were the ones that made him feel like someone has actually seen through him. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it could be. Now that he had the chance to at least drown the caution deeper into the water with someone he could trust, why would he waste it by working on a stale routine?

“I don’t have any plans for this afternoon,” he decided, and she flashed him a bright smile.

“Would you like to drop by the bookstore?”

Salva’s eyes widened as it would always do since a kid whenever he would hear about that place. The bookstore was his natural habitat, and paying it a visit would mean he would have to bear another part of himself to her, but hadn't he unleashed enough not to spare her a little bit more? What would be the point of being afraid? Nothing, although there was only one little problem. “It would be a pleasure to drive you there but I don’t have my motorcycle with me and it would be embarrassing if I let you-”

She held up a hand over his mouth, giving him a look as if she wouldn’t take no for an answer...because she didn’t. “Let’s get this whole thing right this time. I am asking you to accompany me and I’m not going to ask more than that. And I have my car.”

“Oh. Great,” he slung his satchel on his shoulder and had an arm outstretched to Raquel, which she gladly took as they ambled out of the room. He was genuinely perplexed by the kind of intimacy it was to be taken to a bookstore for a date—not that it was a date, or was it? He had no idea. To him, it was enough to be happy that he was with her once more. 

“I can’t wait to see what’s on sale,” he muttered, keeping his jaw still from smiling too wide. 

She rolled her eyes and let them linger on his grin of anticipation for a second. “Nerd,” she muttered to herself.

⚖️

“I’m going to look for a textbook,” Raquel said, leading him inside her white Alfa Romeo. She slammed the door as soon as Salva was on the passenger’s seat and walked around the car to the driver's, turning on the ignition. She turned to him with the smile on her face that she had been wearing since the moment of his agreement to join her once again on another late afternoon errand. “Are you sure I’m not interrupting your free time?”

She could see him hesitate, which made her a little guilty about asking him out. Still, somehow, he shook his head. 

“Raquel, I’ve already told you I’m available. Besides, there’s a weekly sale on their front shelf I always go back to. I haven’t been there for approximately fourteen days.”

“Tell me a book you _haven’t_ read yet,” she said, stunned at his profound establishment with literature.

He wrinkled his nose. “Quite a long list.”

Her jaw dropped, releasing a dramatic scoff. “I don’t think so, mister.”

“It’s true! There were almost one hundred and thirty million published books in modern history and that alone was stated in 2010. Imagine having only read just a few of them?”

“ _A few_ being the hundreds you’ve read in your whole life?”

He nodded. “Certainly.”

“And I’m guessing you’ve learned that from a book as well.” 

“A magazine, actually,” he corrected her, lifting a thumb to adjust his glasses. “And that’s a different story.”

A shock of disbelief went right through her chest. “Salva, how many pages have you flipped through in your whole life?”

“You would get bored with me if I go on about it.”

“No. That’s the most impressive thing I’ve ever heard in my life. I could kiss you right now,” Raquel drawled out. 

He awkwardly stirred, a feeling of uneasiness being absorbed in his gut. Had he heard it right? Did she just say she wanted to kiss him? He realized it was too soon to figure out the subjectivity of her humor. Was she kidding? Was she telling the truth?

Salva was on the verge of panic, and he didn’t want that to happen in front of her. What baffled him was how she had said it casually like it was something they could just do right at this moment. It made him stare at her unbothered expression facing the road, in which her lips were pursed tightly. He remembered how soft it felt against his, and at the very rear of his thinking process, he wished he could feel them again. 

_I could kiss you back right now._

“What?” she frowned hastily, her face clouded with so much confusion. 

He jolted at her tone, blinking hard and fast. “What?”

She tried not to wince as she took a turn from a packed avenue. “You might have said that out loud.”

“Said _what_ out loud?”

“That you...That you wanted to kiss me back,” she said, grateful to have the road to focus on instead of his tentative gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, clasping his palms together. At that moment, he was thinking of a million ways to render all of his impulsivity and rigidity and take them out of his system. 

He expected her to be agitated from his distraught over what was clearly a joke, but she just dismissed it with a shrug while she carefully overtook a ridiculously slow-moving Nissan on their lane. “No. I’m sorry. I was trying to flirt with you. That’s why I said that.”

He held up both his hands. “You’re always trying to flirt with me.”

“And you’re always trying to flirt back.” 

“Actually, I’m getting used to this thing with you. I just know it’s all platonic between us but my mind would sometimes reset and question everything I can perceive and process. So there’s a chance I didn’t mean what I’ve said and there might be a chance that I did.”

She nodded understandably. “Do you want me to stop flirting with you so you won’t overthink?”

It would be quite convenient for him at least, but a little less amusing for her. But what he was afraid to admit was that he liked how they were, and he wouldn’t trade it for justice. Or maybe that would be metaphorically a bad trade. The point is: he thought he liked her _so much_ , he just didn’t know what to do with his feelings. 

And it all came to deciding to keep things the way they were because it could get worse since he hadn’t figured it all out. 

“Please don’t,” he pleaded. “In fact, I _can_ learn how to properly flirt back.”

Even if this seemed to please her, she tried to hide a smile of mischief behind her nonchalance. “Living up to the definition of textbook flirting is quite boring.” 

“So are you saying I shouldn’t learn at all?”

With the perfect timing of being stuck in traffic, Raquel stared at him. “All I’m saying is: There’s no proper way of flirting unless you’re being disrespectful. It’s better when you speak your own language, on your own terms.”

“It’s crazy how we’re, uh, talking about this without escalating our intentions.”

“And the intentions being?”

“A relationship.” 

“You have to be more specific.” 

“A _romantic_ relationship.”

Silence fell between them as he was waiting for her to say something, but she couldn’t because she was waiting for him to do the same. It was a natural mechanism of people who are uncertain of what they want from something. Case in point: Raquel and Salva. 

“What textbook are you looking for, by the way?” he stalled, mentally digging the soil he wanted to be buried in, as prescribed by the level of his humiliation. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe himself when his courage would get out of control. How could he utter things he wouldn’t even articulate before he met her.

She seemed to relax after that, with relief written all over her face. 

“Actually, I might need a few more resources before I begin working on my lectures for the next semester,” she answered, taking the exit from the perimeters of the courthouse. She might or might not make it to the jury. Who would know, right? She needed to prepare just in case she would have to go back to teaching sooner.

She spotted him tilting his head in interest from her periphery. “What are you focusing on?”

“The subjectivity of using reductionism and holism in explaining human behavior. It stems from a lot of discourses. Utterly complicated. It has to be organized.”

“That is something that stimulates my emotional and intellectual enthusiasm.”

“Is that nerd for _I’m turned on_? Because I can pretty much sense that you are.”

With a husky chuckle, he shyly put his head down, choosing to hide his confirmation by bringing back the topic they got lost from. “So about your course…”

“What about it?”

“There has to be a debate within.”

“It’s not like I’m pitting them against each other.”

“But you are.”

She gave him an inquisitive look.

“At least at some point, not from your own discernment. With you weighing in both concepts, you will make your students choose between the methods.”

Suddenly, she smirked, trying to keep her eyes on the road and not on _him_. “Which side would you be on if we hold a little discourse right now?”

“Are you challenging me to a debate?” Salva countered, an amused expression on his face. 

Raquel shrugged. “Depends on how you see it. To me, it’s just a simple weighing in of our perceptions so I can figure out its aspects. This should be fun.”

“Are we really doing this?”

“Come on, Salva. Think of it as a way of helping me draw conclusions.”

“Fair enough,” he said, nodding reluctantly.

“I’m basically asking you another favor but didn’t you say it _stimulates your emotional and intellectual enthusiasm_?”

“It does.”

She turned to him with a cheerily pleading expression. “So we’re doing it?”

“Sure.”

“Which side are you on?”

He thought about it for a while, taking in the determination painted on her eyes. “Holism, ‘cause it’s way more complete and realistic.”

She scoffed, “Realistic? You’re saying that when reductionism is based on scientific evidence?”

“Settle down, madam. I would like to discuss with you first the perimeters of the discourse.” He made a show of fixing his tie and adjusting his glasses. “First, I hope this won’t turn into an actual bickering.”

“You really think this will take an unexpected turn, yeah?” 

He leaned in closer as if he was about to spill a huge secret. “No, but arguments make me nervous,” he whispered.

She suppressed a snicker by pursing her lips. “Says you who was just about to initiate a formal debate.”

“That’s why I want to keep it formal so there would be no raising of voices,” he snapped.

“Fine. Formal,” she agreed. “Would you like to start?”

He cleared his throat, pushing down the laugh he wanted to let out. It was unbelievable how they had just become so comfortable around each other. He felt like knowing her for quite some time already as if it wasn’t the first occasion that he was making an actual friend he could fool around with. “First of all, reductionism is more methodical than substantive.”

“Wait,” she interrupted, refusing to agree with his statement no matter how much she wanted to admit he was right. Instead, she just thought of a way to point out something about his strategy. “Aren’t you explaining your proposition first before criticizing mine?”

There, she quietly rejoiced, Salva had no choice but to start over. “First of all, Miss Murillo-”

“That’s sexy. Say that again,” Raquel commanded with a coquettish smirk. Hearing that term of formal endearment—as she preferred to call it—rolled in his tongue so naturally enticed her into a new level of intensity, as evident on the playful yet challenging look she was giving him. 

He comically sighed, narrowing his eyes as he watched her bite her lower lip. “Why don’t you start first if you keep interrupting me like that, _Miss Murillo_?” he teased.

A trickle crawled through her skin, making her shiver a little. “Do you really want me to crush you into pieces?”

“Not if I crush you first,” he defied in unforeseen confidence, which made her lips twitch into a smile.

“Ruthless,” she hissed, her tone coy and bloodthirsty. “Should I start?”

“You may,” he answered at her utmost disposal, speaking with proper decorum in which he was on the brink of failing because of her friskiness. 

She cleared her throat and tilted her head side-to-side with a satisfactory crack as she flashed him a collected grin. “It is known that most scientists are drawn to reductionist conclusions. This method breaks down behaviors for further examination in a restrained manner while maintaining a generative relationship between its different parts.”

Salva nodded to every information she laid out, preoccupied with the way Raquel’s eyes rallied. He tried to avoid them by staring ahead but they just looked like a mesmerizing pair of the chestnut expanse of conviction and sharpness taking him in. 

How she articulated things like why the issue has sparked debates for a long time since it raises matters on “explanation” itself, that mental processes should be explained by physiology and chemistry, and the philosophies of behaviorists he never knew existed just showed that she can easily get to the bottom of everything not because of her psychology degree, but because of the very pinnacle of her nature as a person.

Her words weaved like fabric like a fine textile in his head as he searched for a strong statement to counter her. He looked at her once more and when she gazed back with those eyes that held her power was a part of her charm, lest perchance to spontaneously radiate intimidation as a game than to actually pressure him out. 

And, he, the one who could easily resign to such power defied his misery and had already formulated a rebuttal. 

With an irresistible stare, she added: “Practically, we dissect all of its elements, analyze them, then put them back together to interpret its connections. In fact, biological reductionism made biological therapy possible, like pills and drugs that accompany resolving somatic responses. You realize the human mind is too complicated to be taken and examined as a whole, right?”

She paused, manning the wheels through a crowded street and waiting for his answer while his gaze was still fixed on her eyes. A stroke of confidence tickled her nerves as she internally acknowledged her advantage over him since she had spent years undertaking such intricacy of a subject. She grinned when he looked intimidated and 

He shook his head in strong contradiction. “ _That_ is exactly the point. _Holism holds that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts._ ”

“And _your_ point being?” she challenged.

“The human brain is too complicated that’s why the holistic theory is being utilized. Reductionist approaches might lead to incomplete solutions. Let’s take mental disorders for example. There has to be a social factor as to why there are neurochemical imbalances in the brain. That’s why looking at the whole picture yields to a more accurate result in diagnosis than merely using science-”

Salva stopped when he caught her staring at his lips as she drove, but both heads spun back to the road after a split second of countering each other’s tension-driven gazes.

“You have to stop distracting me,” he reckoned, fiddling with his handkerchief. 

“What?” Raquel taunted, giving him a suggestive look. “Debate aside, you were making a good point.”

“I haven’t even gotten to it but thank you.”

“Get to it, then,” she said. “But you need to pitch in an alternative first.”

“Ah,” he smirked, preparing an answer in his head. “I’ve read something about the method of interactionism.”

“Uh-uh.”

“It understands phenomena through an interaction between different levels rather than analyzing explanations of certain behavior of the same level. So in order to explain a mental condition, we need to consider it at physiological, cognitive, and sociocultural levels.”

“Are you saying we can’t fully rely on science?” she challenged once again, waiting for him to mention something she had in mind.

He pursed his lips and nodded. “In therapy, a coping strategy cannot be recommended until you talk to the patient and deliberate the socio-cultural factors that affect their condition. Thus, fusing physiological and outside forces to yield a result.”

He paused, fixing his glasses and running a hand through the softness of his hair. The tip of his tongue slid between the slit of his mouth, and she held back a hum of satisfaction when he finally presented something practical and specific.

“You have to grasp the entirety of a person’s character to get to know them better, right?” Salva contemplated, piercing a gaze on her daring stare, and prayed to the gods above that the charm he had forced on was working and she would completely agree with him. This would be a small triumphant moment if she did.

But she didn’t.

She wouldn’t. 

Instead, she bit her lip and skimmed her eyes through the rigidness of his body. She was deeply intrigued by his mind.

 _I want to dive into your complexities, holistically and rationally_ , she wanted to say. But she still her enough decency to act upon her limitations. So it was better not to overwhelm him.

“And what more can I grasp from the rest of your entirety, Salva?” she said with an enticingly wry face.

It was suddenly so clear. She didn’t agree with him, rather, she rode on to his motion. Not only that, she took it on a personal level that sealed his lips because of how she looked at him scrutinizingly as if diving into the bottom of his endless pit. Endless, as it was just a void to cover up his secrets which he will never disclose to anyone. He would keep it as it is. There was no way she would find out. 

_And now, what more can she grasp from the rest of my entirety?_

To her, he was a man of an enigma; a mystery she was yet to solve. Because he might as well have taken off a piece of his clothing every time he was with her. That’s how naked he felt when someone sees as deep as she did through him. 

However, it wasn’t enough. Raquel wanted to _know_ him deeper, and she might as well have asked him what his desires were. He understood that one of the easiest ways to really get to know someone is through what they long for. 

Salva only longed for justice, and that would be more than enough for her to understand him.

 _And so, what more can she grasp from my entirety_? 

She could only take what he could give. That was fine since he could only show her who he was from the surface. Just as he thought, she had nothing to do with his intentions on the trial. 

He could just lie, lie, lie. 

Lies are so easy to grasp, yet so hard to utter. 

But not for her, he realized. Definitely not for her. 

But he kept on doing so, not knowing when to stop. 

It sucked to deny a portion of yourself from someone who just wanted to get to know you better. 

She didn’t deserve this. 

“There’s nothing much to grasp from this void,” he said, a finger tapping twice right above his heart, lips twitching into a rueful smile.

He expected Raquel to hold her curiosities back, her keenness suppressed. 

But then again, she didn’t.

She instead lit up her fire even brighter and chuckled as she turned off the engine, making him realize they have already arrived at the bookstore. It was right where his heart belonged so there was an explosion of relief in his veins. 

They turned to each other and shared a delicate smile. She shifted closer and there went her meticulous eyes again. He has frozen once more, anticipating what she would do next. 

She hesitantly lifted a hand toward him then nimbly brushed her fingers across the breast pocket of his coat. 

_What is she making me feel?_ he thought. It was all raw and exquisite and it barely freed his airways. It was all but subtle. Above all that, it was _lovely_.

“Salva...” she breathed, and he tipped his head forward to foretaste what she wanted to convey, “if you think your heart is empty, shouldn’t you be looking for things worthy of filling it with?”

He held back a breath in reverence to her profound understanding of him. Indeed, she has adhered to such unfathomed notions. 

She snapped herself back to consciousness and twitched an eyebrow as she wrapped her hand on the handle to finally get out of the car, leaving him alone in deep scrutiny. 

Salva did the same, breathlessly divulging his entirety out and skipping right behind her trail. 

A fresh earthy smell with hints of vanilla welcomed them as they marched inside, and it wrapped them like a blanket against the cold. They smiled at each other then he followed her to the academic section, almost waddling from the way the wood-based aroma made him feel. 

Raquel plucked out a couple of books and skimmed through them at once, asking him to do the same so he could help her. “This is just gonna be quick so you won’t waste your time with me,” she assured him.

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s fine? Take your time,” he replied, crouching down on the bottom shelf to check out more resources while she was focusing on the ones on the top. _Kandel, Jones, Kauffman…Maybe Laughlin._ There were too many choices of authors that he could hardly pick one. These were all brilliant for anything to be left out.

He looked up to her sniffing a page of a book she was holding. “This smells nice,” she mused. Then he helped himself up to press his nose on the page, his face almost so close to hears that he almost shivered.

“It does smell exquisite,” he agreed. “Make sure it’s well-written before you get it.”

“I’m getting it,” she said, putting it down to rest on top of the vertically lined books. “Do we have anything else worthy of sniffing down there?” she asked, pointing to the shelf he was just going through. 

“ _Reinventing the Sacred_ by Stuart Kauffman,” he pitched in, bending down to pluck it out. “Kauffman argues that the science of complexity paves the way to understand phenomena other than reductionist science.”

“Still fighting for your cause, Professor?” she teased with a husky voice, smirking behind the book she was holding.

“You took the debate personally. It’s against the rules.”

“And you gave in,” she spat triumphantly and sweetly, snatching the book from his hand and walking away to the counter. “Perhaps, this is it. I trust you. I’m getting the one that smells good and the one that you’ve recommended.”

He slouched behind her, rolling his eyes in defeat. “Alright, you win.”

She halted to a stop, frowning at him as she presented another challenge. “You’re just going to easily give up?”

He scowled at her. It was unbelievable how she handled her competitiveness with her sass. He was about to tease her back until something above the counter caught his eyes.

He felt his knees stiffen and his chest tighten with an achingly familiar weight over it. Upon the exclusive shelf of signed copies was a special edition of _Liberalism and the Limits of Justice_. It was the same book that went out of stock for months and he was perplexed to see it back. He loved it because there were so many sentiments attached to its content from his second year at law school before he dropped out. It was the book that kept him sane during those times.

_His father, money, blood, and injustice._

It all came back rushing to him. 

Salva held back a sigh. 

“Are you alright?” Raquel asked, following his line of sight. 

“It’s…” he stammered, “the book.”

“Which one? I won’t believe it if you’re not tempted to get something for yourself.”

“An edition of Micheal Sandel’s book,” he whispered in awe. “I’ve always wanted this since it became available last year.”

Her eyes lit up. “Then it’s the perfect time to get it, don’t you think?”

He shook his head and slid both of his hands in his pocket. “It costs a lot. I still have to pay for this month’s rent and the motorcycle loan. I’m just gonna wait for it to go on sale.”

She looked at him, then at the book on the exclusive shelf, thinking of how it must have meant to him if he deemed it like a treasure. She knew that books were like his comfort blanket, and he wouldn’t be who he is without them.

He walked to a nearby section, suppressing his sadness away while she had her books scanned on the counter.

She eyed the book once again with a smile on her face.

⚖️

Raquel was driving him home, and he was still wearing his desolation on his face. She felt sorry, so she just kept up with the consolable silence. 

Suddenly, Salva straightened as if waking himself up from a bad dream. “Just drop me by that street over there. I’m gonna walk myself home,” he said out of discomfiture.

“I said I’m going to take you home. That _isn’t_ home.”

He was about to protest, but she gave her a look of insistence. “Fine. It’s on the street after that. The yellow apartment.”

“So we’re close,” she muttered, searching for a parking space ahead.

“Here we are,” he said as she stopped in front of a three-story apartment with a garden of bee palms on the side. “I live on the top floor.”

“Salva, before you go,” she said, and he stopped unbuckling his seatbelt. She took a deep breath. “I said it wasn’t the whiskey, right?”

He raised his eyebrows, surprised. 

“Uh, it wasn’t the wine from last night, either.”

It filled her heart to see his usual beam painted on his face. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank _you_ for your time,” she countered sincerely, taking his hand and rubbing its back with her thumb. “Thank you for today, last night, and the night before that.”

“I think we need to add more nights on the list soon.”

She nodded. “Yes, we do.”

They chuckled, and without hesitation, he leaned closer to kiss her cheek. Raquel was taken back when he pulled away, feeling the remnants of his mouth on her skin with delicate fingertips.

“You had your chance last night. It’s my turn,” he whispered in her ear. He was pleased to see a blush right on the spot where he kissed her.

“Is this going to be a thing now?

“What thing?”

“So it means it’s my turn tomorrow,” she pondered. 

He shrugged, breaking into a more wholehearted smile. “That would be fair,” he said, then he checked his wristwatch. “You probably have a lot of readings to do so…”

She grabbed his bicep and he unlatched the door handle, waiting for her to talk. “One last thing.”

She reached for the package from the backseat, with which she was happy because it was heavier than it was supposed to be. 

With a rustle that filled their space, she held out the book he has always wanted, and he was stunned to see it glisten on her lap. 

“No way,” he said in barely a whisper.

“Do you like my little gift?” she nervously hoped, uncertain about how he would react.

Salva ran his fingers through his hair and gasped when she placed it on his lap. “Raquel,” he exhaled, flipping its hardcover to see her elaborate handwriting on the first page.

_Something worthy of filling your heart with._

_Inspectora_

He couldn’t thank her enough, so he pulled her into a tight embrace, a tear rolling down his cheek. He breathed her in, sniffing her hair and her neck.

_Lilacs. He could only smell lilacs._

She ran a hand from his head to his back and pulled him even closer, nestling her face to his chest. He smelled the same as he did yesterday, only with a trickle of vanilla he had gotten from the bookstore. 

“This means _a lot_ to me, Raquel,” he said against the space between her shoulder and her neck. 

”I know,” she said, her voice muffled against the fabric of his coat.  
  
”Thank you so much.”

”It’s nothing, Salva. You deserve to be happy.”

They pulled away, sharing one last look before he opened the door.

“I’m gonna have to pay you back for this,” he swore, not letting go of her gaze.

She waved it away and rolled her eyes. “No need. Just go and put it on its throne in your collection. Take care, Salva.”

“Take care, Raquel,” he whispered as he let go of her hand.

He stepped out of the car, clutching the book to his chest just like he did with the first one exactly fifteen years ago. A Cadillac might not be waiting for him to get inside it once again, but someone worth than money and as sweet as justice was waiting for him to be home before pulling out back on the road. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna say I have a weird fantasy of tasting Salva’s cookies and sipping Raquel’s coffee. 
> 
> I’m on twitter (@witchmurillo).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	8. Selected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jury selection concludes, and Raquel asks Salva on a special night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just thought I would include something important about Raquel's life here in honor of mental health awareness. The next chapter will be on shortly. Take care of yourselves. Hope you enjoy it!

She was supposed to be doing her readings tonight, but an unexpected text message made her abruptly decide to postpone it as she pulled out of Salva’s street.

It was finally an old friend trying to catch up.

And now, it was nice to be back on the console of the leather bean bag at the corner of Dr. Rodriguez’s office, the only spot where Raquel would hold her sessions simply because she thought it was making her feel like sitting on cloud nine.

The sweet summery scent of huckleberry took over as they sat across each other comfortably, with Raquel waiting for her therapist to finish going over her tests and the transcripts of her previous sessions. 

The counseling office was upscale and tidy with abstract paintings on the walls that almost resembled her state of mind when things go rough—just a series of endless spirals overlapping each other, just like at the very moment when she found out about her ex-husband’s cheating that sparked a wildfire of problems in her mind.

At first, she didn’t like the idea of being handled like this especially when she had spent several years analyzing and teaching human behavior until it dawned on her that she needed psychological assistance herself. 

She knew all the numbers, how various cognitive processes work, and had explored thoughts and emotions to improve a person’s well-being, but she treated them as either factual or theoretical approaches. They were never something that she had to internalize and apply in her own life - until she had to. 

Right now, she had no idea about her progress. She couldn’t even determine if she had made even a small one recently. All she knew was that everything seemed to be going neither bad nor good, and she had no idea what to tell Selene - how Dr. Rodriguez preferred to be called since it was a friend that Raquel mostly needed long before the start of her counseling. 

_Raquel came in high-neck long sleeves, skinny jeans, and black leather heels. Her wavy hair is still dyed in the mixture of blonde and brunette, her face bare and appears pale. Her expression is a lot calmer and more untroubled than usual. The tendency of her consciousness on how she appears remains through the periodic fixing of her hair and adjusting the hem of her shirt..._

Selene looked into the notes they had just scribbled and shut their clipboard with a heavy thud. “Hi, Raquel,” they regarded, their round eyes in deep observation of their client’s mannerisms. “How have the past few weeks gone for you?”

Their voice was pleasant as usual, almost too soothing that she couldn’t imagine being under someone else’s care and supervision.

“Good,” she said, hesitant while still letting all her thoughts break through her emotional barrier. “I guess.”

Selene gave a hint of impression with the slight tilting of their head as they leaned in closer, adjusting their position on the bean bag and pulling their lounge jacket tighter across their chest. They nodded and waited until Raquel finally collected herself to go on after getting lost in a short trance - they knew how much she had been holding herself back so it was important for her to take her own pace.

She straightened herself and cleared her throat. “I had those days when I would feel like there’s no one else in the world but me. It’s probably because,” her voice broke a little as she shifted farther into the bean bag, “I miss my daughter so much. With mom. And all those times when I had that feeling of contentment around someone.”

Selene hummed, gesturing her to continue.

Raquel regarded their gentleness for a moment by giving them a small smile of appreciation, even if she knew it was part of the counseling process to be as gentle as possible with their clients. “But then, you know what happened with Alberto— _that son of a bitch._ I know we’re going back and forth between this topic but…”

“It’s alright. Go on.”

She thought of all the times when she had trouble opening herself to people and putting her trust in them; her struggles with forming personal relationships and the inconvenience with the prospect of sex; having to redeem her self-esteem that took her several months. It had been a hellhole of a life. 

“...Really, it’s the unbearable thought of being cheated on twice that emits my distresses at my past marriage and how my daughter’s case was handled in court.”

Selene tucked the excess strands of red curls into their ear and placed Raquel’s portfolio on the coffee table that separated both of them. “There’s nothing wrong with going back and forth. That doesn’t mean your progress is declining. The more you avoid acknowledging what’s unpleasant, the more your coping skills diminish. Do you remember that?”

Raquel nodded. “Yeah, and I think I’m doing better,” she realized.

“That’s good. Are there still frequent episodes of dissociation?”

“None that I remember that has made me experience an existential crisis,” she responded honestly. “Right now, I sort of miss teaching because I’m a prospective juror at the Schneider v. Reynolds case and it’s so much to bear. You’ve probably seen it in the news.”

The psychologist narrowed their eyes and tried to recall it. “Oh, that huge tobacco industry case. How is it? For you, I mean.”

Raquel chuckled and threaded her hair with her fingers. “Boring.”

“Has it been affecting your mental outlook in your everyday life?”

She shook her head. “Surprisingly, it doesn’t. Perhaps, it’s because it’s a civic duty that I at least have to fulfill. It’s okay, though. I get to see what kind of system is behind the boundaries that were drawn between me and Paula.”

“So, you are able to comply with whatever they require from you,” they said suggestively. “You are not seeing any reason to retrieve yourself back in your shell.”

She shook her head again then they hummed in approval. “That’s a start, Raquel.”

“It is, I guess. I am brought into a society where we look past what’s good and what’s bad and instead weigh in the reasons why they exist.”

Selene intently listened to her, pausing from taking mental notes to understand how she analyzed everything without any interference. “That’s all that’s in it for you in exchange for your service.”

She smiled. “Not only that.”

They waited and raised their eyebrows in subtle anticipation. 

“I made a new friend,” she proudly declared, her mood finally in place from the distracting thought of her problems.

Selene drew back a breath and observed how she blushed. “You’ve gotten farther from where you’ve started. That can be good for you. How is it?”

She swallowed and hesitated, keeping herself from smiling too wide. “Well, he helps me with coping up - not like a distraction, though. He does his best to listen to me and all the voices inside my head that I thought weren’t valid were heard. But I still feel bad about myself when I’m around him. It’s just that somehow, I am safe to feel it because he - _God_ , how do I explain this - is just _there_ for me.”

Selene reached for their portfolio and clicked a pen to start taking down notes. “It seems like you’re slowly starting to open yourself and letting go some fragments of your past - although, they still affect you but not in the way that makes you feel inadequate. How do you value your relationship with him?”

“ _Relationship?_ ” Raquel shuddered at the thought since it was still unclear what kind it was and what they both wanted it to be. “Well…”

“Don’t overthink. The first thing that pops into your head will do.”

She took a deep breath. “Valuable enough to keep me up all night. He’s pretty good at it.”

They kept silent, waiting for her to elaborate on what it meant.

Suddenly, Raquel’s eyes widened. “Well, he's,” she chuckled, “patient enough to bear with my misery. Someone who’s like that is hard not to think about.”

“Does it feel new to you?”

She shrugged and scratched the side of her lips. “Somehow, it does. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been close to anyone since the divorce or I'm just starting to like...”

Selene bobbed their head encouragingly. “Come on, don't be afraid to say it if you want to."

She slumped her shoulders and deeply exhaled. “Honestly, I don't know. I haven't figured out how I'll handle this aspect of my life.”

"And that's okay, Raquel. You are finally rediscovering what it's like to connect to people and how much you rely on your relationship with them - no matter what you define it as. As long as it doesn’t hurt you, you can explore how far you can go with them and make sure it’s a good one for the both of you.”

Raquel let out a sigh of relief. 

They added: “You can take all the time you want with the people that matter to you and try to reflect on your relationship with them. Without pressure.”

“Without pressure,” she echoed, looking down on her feet to let it sink in.

Selene cleared their throat. “But…”

She quickly craned her neck with her eyes widened in sheer expectancy of what else they could say about her management of relationships.

With a stern expression, they gently closed her portfolio and clicked their pen. “You also need to spare some time to get enough sleep. How is your routine?”

Raquel reluctantly opened her mouth to speak, but no amount of the right words could justify why she had been staying up for two consecutive nights.

_With alcohol._

_And Salva._

“Not so great, Selene,” she admitted in slight remorse. “I’ve been trying to seize what I can from life and the only time I can do that is hanging out with him right after the jury selection.”

They subdued a pleasant smile. Although it might have taken her a long time to meet new people, they could see that the slow pace was worth the wait. She used it wisely to collect enough certitude to affix herself with someone - in their own words, _no matter what she and Salva would define it as._

“What time do you usually sleep?” Selene gradually put forward.

“Sometimes, I would drink some wine until ten o’clock then read until I doze. But for the past few days, I’ve been staying up until midnight. That’s the time when we started seeing each other after a couple of court sessions we’ve had,” she answered, sticking to the unspoken rule to be as honest as possible when it comes to things like this - as long as she had the capacity to.

“Finding some ways to bear with anxiety is hard to find. I think you’ve found yours, but I would advise you to go to bed earlier to fix your body clock. Can you do that?” 

“I’ll do that,” Raquel assured them, keeping her expression sincere. “I think I’m in the right state of mind to manage.”

Deep down, it made her so upset she almost pressed herself further down the bean bag. Just as when she had guaranteed more nights to spend with Salva...

“Aren’t you feeling any fear or anxiety of something?” they interfered with her little frustration. 

She straightened herself once again and shrugged. “Maybe the trial, because I have no idea on what’s gonna go down tomorrow.”

“Other than that, none?”

_“Well, the fear of putting my full trust in someone and ending up being lied to - just the usual.”_

⚖️

  
  
**_Jury Selection_ **

**_Day 3_ **

**_12:21 Eastern Time_ **

He had spent the last two hours pacing around the lobby and drinking three cups of coffee from the vending machine. Talk about being too early in anticipation of the big day. 

This was it.

This was really _it_.

This was the actual day of the jury selection.

No more preambles and interrogations to assess their qualifications.

No more lawyers being caught up in huge disputes beyond the boundaries of the law. 

What comes out this day would determine the people he needed to lure into his side to get their verdict against the defendant. 

The truth is, Salva wished they wouldn’t pick Raquel. God knows how he wouldn’t last long with guilt eating him up for having to manipulate her into the plaintiff’s motion. He wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. 

She was too sweet and sincere with him that she would be impossible to deceive. Besides, she always had a strong conviction and a credible opinion on everything. Imagine having to convince someone with such invincible principles.

_Imagine having to take the only person who understands you deeper into your mess._

What if she wouldn’t agree with him? 

Salva clenched his fist again as if he could erase the thought in a split second. He could feel his stomach churning faster every time he thought about her and the fact that she was still incognizant of his intentions on the trial, thinking he was just another randomly selected citizen from the state when in reality, he had paid thousands of dollars just to be right where he was. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her with his plans, he just really didn’t want her to intrude in them because the prospect of it alone was too dangerous. The people conspiring with the lawyers from the outside were probably doing their best to get the respective verdicts they wanted. They probably had people inside to snoop in some information. 

It turned out Salva wasn’t the only one laying down the manipulation card, of course. The only difference is that he wouldn’t get to the point of putting lives at risk. The plaintiff and the defendant would, and _anyone_ could be affected. 

Anyone including Raquel if she would ever make it to the jury pool. 

_Imagine being caught up in a legal hurricane with someone who definitely doesn’t have anything to do with it._

“The sooner this should’ve sunk in, the lesser the damage would’ve been,” Salva muttered. It was too late. He had been etching the damage right into the surface of the situation all along.

He wished he could live without knowing her personally so when she gets accepted, it wouldn’t have to be a problem to deceive her.

But could he live with having to deceive her? Let alone have regrets about whatever they had? Definitely not. 

He was drenched in sweat, beads of it pooling his forehead and neck with a splatter lining his spine and shoulders and infiltrating his shirt and coat. With haste, he took off his clothes and carefully folded them on the sink in the men’s room on the top floor of the courthouse, exposing his whole torso right in front of a hazy mirror. 

He took out his handkerchief to wipe off the sweat from his skin, saying prayers under his breath. 

_Raquel._

_Raquel._

_Please._

_Please._

_Not Raquel._

⚖️

  
  


Alison Parker worked at the supermarket on the other side of the city to save up for her car loan. Apparently, she had to move out from her home to escape the clutches of her family - which happened to be the biggest stockholder of the Parker Corporation Group in Miami. The lawyers thought it would be fair to have a fresh perspective on the matter, and it made so much sense to pick her since she’s twenty-two and fresh out of business school. 

A former soldier and an architect turned their heads as they welcomed another company inside the jury box. 

“Daniel Ramos,” Judge Harris called out, and he stood to take his spot in the pool right beside Parker who was making circles out of the strands of her hair. The man was a buff. He was found at the gym a couple of times this week, of course, _secretly_ by Alicia Sierra’s goon. He makes two thousand dollars a month from working at a factory and confirmed in his questionnaire that he wanted to make more by next year. He just wasn’t sure how.

It was unbelievable, and Raquel was irked by the fact that the two women who she had caught blatantly gossiping about the trial on the first day - when they weren’t allowed to discuss the case among themselves - made it in. 

The one who looked like she’s about to cause chaos was Silene Oliveira - _the hotshot fashion designer_ , as regarded by Berrote’s jury consultants. And the taller one who had dark features was Agata Jimenez - _the famous personal trainer._ Silene is the smoker of the two, and she has tried to convince her friend into the habit but considering Agata’s work, it would be hypocritical of her. 

His Honor cleared his throat and scanned through the shortlist on his hand. He squinted his eyes when he moved on to the next. “Monica Gaztambide.”

The slim curly-haired woman stood up from the bench and claimed her seat in the box. She’s a branch manager at the Investor’s Bank and the lawyers thought it was wise to let her in since she knew how to handle finances - and the trial was all about discerning if hundreds of thousands of dollars would be worth compensating for a widowed woman by a huge company. They needed her perspective. 

Three more prospects were in, and His Honor’s gaze moved to Salva and Raquel’s row. 

Number eleven and number twelve. 

Who among this crowd of almost a hundred anticipating prospects would be the last to get into the civic duty?

She reached for his trembling hand on his lap and caressed it without being too obvious to the people around them by looking straight into the rear end of the courtroom. “You seem nervous. Is everything alright?”

Salva, who tried to keep intimidation into his composure, squeezed her fingers. He was _not_ supposed to show how anxious he was about the results of the deliberation, but he couldn’t control the sudden uproar of emotions. It just creeped out of his skin, and he was sweating again. Somehow, he still managed to smell like a library. 

“I…” he swallowed, looking around to see the jury consultants batting curious eyes at him.

Raquel patiently waited for an answer. She could see a drop of sweat slide from his forehead to his shoulder and wondered what could have been wrong with him at this time of the day.

“I think I need to…” Salva hesitated. He thought would know if he was lying, so he dug in through the deepest pit of his reasoning. “I, uh...The...I need to...go...I need... _bathroom._ ”

Comprehension dawning unto her face, she slightly turned to him. That’s when he knew that his stalling worked; because she was giving her a face as if to say as if she completely understood him. “Do you want me to scoot over the deputy to excuse you? You can run out of here if you need to-”

 _“Don’t,”_ he warned her. If he was lucky enough to get into the trial - with which he was sure he was getting a shot at since he had shown exactly the neutrality that both parties wanted from them—why would he miss the huge chance to hear his name being announced?

“Uh, okay. Just…” she looked at him from his head to toe, unsure what to say or do, “hang in there, Salva.”

She widened her eyes at how absurd he looked, then loosened her grip on his hand. Eventually, she pulled it away when he seemed to calm down—just a little, at least. 

“Juror number eleven,” Judge Harris announced, “Angel Rubio.”

And then a man from the fifth row stood up and flinched. Every lawyer and prospect, including the judge, shot him a nervous look. There was a collective gasp when he cursed to himself—a major point declining on his record. The accountant was sweating, and the consultants have already had their ears lent to his direction. 

Rubio clutched the hem of his shirt. “I can’t.”

The whole room went silent. Salva tried to take another deep breath to distract himself and instinctively shot an anxious glance at Raquel who was now muttering how poor this man was. There was something in her eyes that made him feel uneasy and nervous; something that made him drawn against his will. She was strikingly beautiful, and he realized he was stalling away from his anxiousness. 

_Great_ , he thought. _If you plan on falling in love it has to be in the middle of a huge ordeal._

Salva cleared his throat to force himself to focus on the trial.

“I need to excuse myself from the trial, Sir,” Rubio announced, looking around at every authority he could see; at whoever could be responsible to let him go. “I lied on my questionnaire. I cannot handle the duty. I cannot promise to be fair and impartial. I have several kids to look after.”

_Not even ten minutes into his service and he was already stripped of it._

“That’s the thing with liars. They turn themselves in when it’s too late,” Raquel casually commented, but she kept her voice down so only Salva could hear it. 

His face turned bright red. If only he could tell her everything at this moment, he would, but that would mean he was willing to risk the plan that he had been sacrificing a huge quarter of his money just to give justice to his father. 

“Are you feeling better now?” she asked, trying to change the topic so as to not have the woman sitting beside her weirded out.

“Yeah,” he answered. “A lot, actually. I was just getting impatient. This is taking so long.”

“Sure, it is. I’m glad you’re better now. I was so worried.” She gave him a comforting look and smiled and waited for him to smile back but the judge started talking again. 

Rubio was finally dismissed from court and everyone watched stride out. _He just dodged a bullet_ , many were whispering. 

Salva shut his eyes and realized that he was going _straight_ for the bullet instead of dodging it, and there were so many chances that Raquel would have to take it too. 

“We are therefore replacing Mr. Rubio from one of the chosen alternates,” His Honor went through a piece of paper and s. “ _Ahem._ Salvador Martin will be juror number eleven.”

Salva frowned. He should be happy, shouldn’t he? _He was in_. 

But why was he only chosen initially as an _alternative_? He had carried out everything in accordance with what the panel wanted. He didn’t take any side, or at least that was what he had written on paper so it would look like it. It was quite unfair on his part. 

“Congrats, Salva,” Raquel whispered teasingly, and he tried to pick up his jaw from the floor and let his twitch curl into a little smile just so he could show her that he was still with her. 

“Thanks, Raquel.” He tried to look disappointed to create a little illusion that he was kind of pissed for being picked. Most of them found trials boring. He figured it would be easier to blend in like that. 

“Mr. Martin, you may take your seat in the jury box,” said a clerk from behind him, and before he was ushered beside the rear end of the courtroom, he and Raquel shared yet another look. His face held a precarious stare, but it melted as soon as she winked at him, and a shiver tickled his spine. 

Once he was in his seat, he scanned the rest of the jurors. They were all unsure of what to do next since they haven’t been officially oriented with the protocols. 

A former marine.

An architect.

A cashier from a rich family.

A factory worker.

A fashion designer.

A personal trainer.

A bank manager.

A famous author.

An I.T. specialist.

A yoga instructor.

And Salva, plus one more.

“Juror number twelve,” His Honor called in, and everyone braced themselves to be finally free from the long hours of listening to whatever had to be pitched in by the lawyers. This wasn’t the most interesting duty that they could do for the state. 

While all the people around him held their breaths in preparation to get out of the court, Salva held his because he prayed that the next one would be an easy target. He didn’t want to carry a treacherous burden on having to lie to her again and again.

_Please._

_Please don’t let this be…_

“Raquel Murillo.”

A smear of disappointment splattered into his face. Salva was shaking now, he was afraid to sweat too much again. 

_Raquel Murillo._

That was what echoed in his mind as she walked down the aisle along with the clerk. This was something that would totally haunt him in his sleep.

“I guess we’re really meant to stick around each other,” she quietly ruminated while settling herself right beside him.

He swallowed. “Yes, we are.”

If things would go out of hand with the lawyers and they would have to start threatening everyone again, she would be his liability. He would protect her from them no matter what would happen. 

If a hurricane would settle itself on their paths, he would be her solace. It was the least he could do in the meantime. 

⚖️

“Salva!” He heard Raquel call out after him as he took a quivering stride out of the courthouse lobby. He had no choice but to stop himself and turn around, trying his best not to look guilty. But her effect on him was too strong that he was overjoyed upon seeing her happy and cheery like this.

“Hey there,” he said, tightening his grip on the string of his satchel. 

She stood in front of him with hopeful eyes and he couldn’t control himself from smiling too wide. “Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“Are you taking me to another bookstore date? Because if you are, I’m in,” Salva beamed. 

“Even better.”

“What is it?”

“Come over,” she said, tilting her head to convince him.

He blinked. “To your house? Right where you live?”

She chuckled at how rigid he looked. He must have realized how intimate her invitation was, but it was about time she would repay him for everything he has done for her so far. “Where else do you think I live, Salva?”

He hesitated and let out a nervous laugh. “What are we going to do there?”

“Just a simple dinner, nothing grandiose.”

“Dinner,” he echoed, smiling to himself.

“Are you in?” 

Salva nodded, and Raquel reached out to his hand. He gladly squeezed hers. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You might be a little busy.”

“But I’m with you.”

“Yes you are and I’m thankful ‘cause the house has been really quiet lately. I was thinking maybe we can summon it back to life.”

“I’ll be there,” he assured her. “I’ll just have to drop by something and I’ll go straight to your home.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Be there at seven.”

He nodded again.

They smiled at each other for another long moment. Standing there hand-in-hand in the middle of a courthouse with a lot of people going out after a long day, they felt like the most stupid people for being unafraid to show how they were fond of each other right in front of the law.

The thought itself was crazy, but to them it was enthralling. The way they manifested their inhibitions was as subtle as a gentle glide of a petal through the skin. 

“What’s your favorite flower?” - “What's your favorite dish?” - they both asked at the same time, and she blushed. He liked it when she blushes. 

“That would be carnations and pink tulips,” Raquel answered. 

“Sweet,” Salva matched up. “That would be spicy skillet chicken breast Aglio e olio with buttered wheat toast.”

“Sweet and spicy. I’ll see you then,” she said, letting go of his hand and turning around the exit, then set out another wink at him. 

“I’ll see you, Raquel.”

He watched her walk away and clasped and unclasped the hand that had just been in between her palm and her fingers. At least, he would be able to keep an eye on her tonight. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect a banger chapter after this anytime before the year ends! Thanks so much for reading.


	9. Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raquel and Salva go on an utterly romantic date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back. I would like to dedicate this chapter to my friends Rheana, Adri (hi mom), Yel, and Meg. Thank you for all your support. 
> 
> Also, this chapter is a gift for a very special writer here, Crystal. Thank you for writing Taste of Love. I'm so proud of you.

Carnations and pink tulips - a small bundle of her favorite things. 

Salva made sure the arrangement of the bouquet was exactly how she liked it, even if he actually had no idea how she did. But it so looked nice, elegant even, that he couldn’t stop looking at it. Seeing all the whites and pinks wrapped with a nice sheer felted sheet made him realize how awfully struck he was by her charisma. He just knew it in his heart that she was going to love it.

The menace of a huge trial should be at the back of his mind, temporarily abandoned and untouched by his consciousness, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t careful with what he was doing. 

He was simply getting flowers for the woman he cares about. If snitches would be readying their cameras somewhere along the rows of cars being parked in front of the flower shop, he would let them be. He wouldn’t let them know that the woman he cares about was a juror of the same case he was trying, though; so as he hopped on his motorcycle, the bouquet carefully placed inside a paper bag, Salva thought about stalling his route. 

He, therefore, rode to her house with a lot of stopovers and zigzagging on empty lanes, a smile on his face never ever fading even after feeling a few drops of precipitation on his knuckles. 

Meanwhile, Raquel put on a silk camiseta top over her pants. It would look simple on anyone, but sensational on her. She was ready. She just knew he would like the food, since his assurance of taking however she would cook it helped a lot on her confidence of manning the kitchen for a very specific dish.

She cooked it with ease, letting the skills she had gotten from her mother overtake her. She sautéd garlic - the fresh ones she had diced herself - in olive oil in a cold skillet, threw in some pasta (she liked fettuccine out of all kinds of pasta), stirring red pepper flakes and salt and whatever she could figure would escalate its taste. She didn’t forget about the spicy slices of chicken and put in buttered wheat bread in the toaster, just the way she would. 

This was her recipe, anyway, and the only word of criticism she would take tonight was his. It was up to him if she did well since this dish seemed so special to him and he knew it well; from the balance of its flavors to its other delicate elements. It looked nice with Parmesan cheese, but she liked it better with parsley. The question was, what was his favorite garnish? 

She tried to answer it herself. Was he the kind of man who liked cheese or parsley? But the answer just didn’t lie there. She was the kind of woman who liked cheese _and_ parsley, and she would like to turn this into whatever she wanted it to be (in her defense, he didn’t specify which one he liked better), so she topped it with both. 

At least, it looked nice _and_ tasted better with parsley and parm. 

A minute after the finishing touches, there he was in his usual suit and tie, standing on her front door with the most charming (but nervous) smile and a stunning bouquet of her favorite flowers. It struck her that the most beautiful thing about tonight was that the little things met their respective customs. That was when she knew they were going to be more comfortable than ever. 

“Juror number twelve,” Salva pronounced, handing out the flowers and kissing her hand when she reached out. 

Raquel laughed. She wished she could stop making him from making her blush for a moment since her cheeks could almost smolder and incinerate at any given time. “I’m not sure if that’s the proper way to address another juror from the case that you’re trying but I’ll take it.” 

She cradled the flowers in her arms, smelling the sweet and nostalgic aroma of the tufted blooms and arching petals. “Salva, I can’t thank you enough for this.”

Salva bowed his head. “I’m glad you like it.”

He looked around her home once she let her in while she skittered to gently place the bouquet on the table. There was nothing much to see, but it still amused him to take in things that reflected who she was. Everything just looked right - the floral ornaments, the psychology books on the shelf, the modern pieces of furniture, and of course the pictures of her that hung on the wall. His eyes shifted to one that he assumed was of her daughter. 

“She looks a lot like you,” he blurted, a pensive look on his face as he gazed through the girl’s eyes. She was in front of The Seattle Central Library, and he mirrored her huge smile as he remembered Raquel mentioning that she loved books. 

After taking out a couple of wine glasses from the cupboard and placing them neatly on the opposite sides of the table, she joined him as he scanned the small collage of her photos on the wall. 

He seemed to be lost in them, but she snapped him back to his senses once they were standing side-to-side. “Enjoying yourself too much, Salva?” she said, smiling. 

“Sorry.” He ducked his head in embarrassment. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine. The actual reason why I asked you here is for us to get to know each other, anyway,” she said. “And I’m lonely.” 

He nodded in understanding, taking in the over-explosion of Raquel’s life in the photos; young Raquel in her dobuk suit and black taekwondo belt (this amazed him a lot), Raquel in her present days talking in front of her students, and Raquel having fun on the beach. He looked away upon seeing her in just a black two-piece swimwear as much as he found it a little intriguing. The rest was just Paula holding different books in front of the local bookstore. 

He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “You must miss her so much. You don’t have anyone else in your house?”

She shook her head and sighed. “It’s just me as of the moment, but mom promised to visit anytime this week.”

“Where is she right now?”

“In Dallas living the life she has always deserved.”

He spotted a photo of Raquel with her daughter and mother at a picnic. She had the most genuine smile she could ever wear, and he wished he could do something for her to be able to wear it again. 

She wistfully pointed at the photo. “That’s the three of us in the summer. We used to have plenty of time together, but now we’re all booked and busy with our own lives.”

Salva wasn’t sure what to do to comfort her, so he just slid his fingers in between hers and expressed as much tenderness as he could. She stared at their hands entwined together then looked up at him. “Thanks for being here.”

“You deserve to be as happy as much you think I do,” he said, smiling, and then they were interrupted by the grumbling of his stomach. He flinched shyly.

“Just in time. Dinner’s ready.” She pulled him in his hand to the dinner table filled with candles, wine, and of course, his favorite dish that he couldn’t wait to taste. 

Salva held his breath in awe. Even her plating was neatly done; every detail was appetizing. He also realized that she liked her Aglio e olio with caesar salad rather than toast. “Raquel, this looks delicious.”

“I tried my best,” she said, putting her hands together in a pleased manner. “Shall we?” 

He then pulled a chair off the table and gestured to her to sit, and she gladly obliged. 

“Such a gentleman,” she mused, grinning to herself. He grabbed one of the napkins that she had folded like a pyramid (it was folded so neatly that he didn’t want to ruin it) and spread it on her lap. She mouthed her thanks and he slid off to his of the table to do the same setting for himself. 

“What’s with you today that you’re extra sweet? You look like you’ve done something wrong and are trying to make up for it.” Raquel said, and he tensed up on his seat, making her giggle. “You’re cute when you’re nervous. Are you comfortable?”

Salva chortled his guilt away and nodded. “More than I could ever be.” He sliced off his toast and chomped on his first bite, then he spun the fork through the pasta and put it in his mouth. 

Before she touched her food, she waited for him to swallow for his approval. “So…”

She was thankful that he nodded approvingly, and she smiled in satisfaction with her work. It was all worth it.

“This is the best recipe I’ve ever tasted, Raquel,” he beamed, wiping the side of his mouth. 

Finally, she started on her pasta, grinning from ear-to-ear from hearing his take. “So why Aglio e olio?”

“It’s the first dish I’ve learned when I started cooking,” he answered.

She tilted her head intriguingly. “I’d like to taste your version one day.”

Suddenly, he lit up. The thought of preparing a dish for her enticed his nerves. “I’ll cook for you anytime you want.”

She looked at him ardently. “That would be nice.” 

They exchanged another look of delight, and he reached for the wine to pour a glass for both of them. “So why carnations and pink tulips?”

“Carnations are my mom’s favorite. She used to fill our home with lots of it that I’ve grown to love. Plus, they smell so good.”

“What about pink tulips?” he asked, spinning another mouthful of pasta. 

She gave him a suggestive look. “Do you know what pink tulips symbolize?”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to the pasta. 

“A celebration of life,” she said, placing down her fork and spreading her hands out in the air. “And perfect love, of course. But you know, love doesn’t have to be perfect to be real.”

Salva swirled and sniffed his glass of wine, unsure what to say next. He had no strong opinion on love. He didn’t even have an actual experience himself, but he just did a downward motion with his head as if to strongly agree. He put down his glass back on the table. “That’s beautiful,” he stalled.

“Exactly!” she happily exclaimed while picking on her salad.

“I mean, you have a really beautiful taste in flowers but you know, they don’t compare to how nice you look tonight,” he timidly stated as he sliced another piece of his toast and tried not to look down on the generous revelation of her chest. 

Raquel narrowed her eyes and accusingly and lazily pointed her fork at him. “Salva, there’s no need to race into my pants. Stop trying to win me over, I’m all yours,” she joked.

He almost choked on his toast, but he still managed to get along their little ‘play’ and ride in. “I am deeply honored.”

They laughed together then fell into a comfortable silence finishing their food, with little exchanges of smiles and him trying to keep it together whenever she would wink. He took all the comfort he could taste in her dish, daring its simplicity and turning it into a delectably inexorable path to a masterpiece. 

All of a sudden, he dropped his forked on the dish, slowly turning his head under the table. He could feel her bare foot rubbing against his ankle, then she slipped it into the bottom hem of his pants. Whatever she was trying to do made him stiff and more rigid than he normally was, and he realized that this wasn’t getting any better.

Nervous, Salva looked at her with his eyeballs almost bulging out of his sockets. “R-Raquel…”

She innocently looked up from her pasta and raised her eyebrows. “Is there something wrong?”

“Is there a ghost in your house?” he asked, taking a quick sip of his wine.

“What made you ask that?” 

Now the ball of her foot was stroking his leg up and down, and he glanced at the protuberance in his crotch. “I...I was just making sure if the foot is yours.”

She lent her head with her eyes widened. “What foot?” 

When he was still feeling her toes linger against his calf, he figured he was liking it, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “Never mind.”

Raquel sensuously made clicking sounds with her mouth. “It’s all in your head, Salva.” Her gaze didn’t leave him as she placed down her fork on her empty plate. “It’s all in your head,” she uttered word by word, slowly lifting her fork to lick it clean. 

Salva gulped and felt like bursting right on the spot. If it wasn’t for her incredulously irresistible Aglio e olio, he would have done unimaginable things right now.

She watched him finish his food in silence, gently running her toe through the length of his leg and suppressing a chuckle whenever he would gag or jolt from the ticklish sensation. 

He suddenly burst out laughing. “Raquel, please.”

She snickered. “What?” 

He thought of things to stop her from the torturous teasing, ran through a couple of things in his mind, and sipped from his glass. “Inspectora…”

He knew how much he liked it when he called her that, but it only made her curl her toes and bury her polished toenails in his skin. “Oh, God.”

She smirked at him. She didn’t even try to hide it anymore. 

Therefore, he finished his food through the painful process and squared his shoulders, taking as much authority as he could while clearing his throat. He even took a generous sip of his wine for the full effect. 

_“Miss Murillo.”_

She stopped, staring at him in awe and deepened arousal. She really, _really_ liked it when he said her name like that. How he rolled his tongue sent several sparks inside her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch you,” she said in a husky tone. 

He cleared his throat again. “Miss Murillo, you have to stop.”

“Or what?” she challenged him, draining her wine glass. 

He winced, barely coming up with something to counter with. He was painfully hard now, a bead of sweat dripping down from his temple.

“You know what?” Raquel compensated when she figured he could barely make it through. The man was utterly speechless, and she could see that he wanted whatever she wanted, too, and that would be fair enough to seal the end of the bargain that they have imposed on themselves from the start. “We should do something fun.”

Salva turned away from her piercing gaze to help himself, catching his breath. “Depends on your definition of fun.”

She leaned her arms on the table. “What about _your_ definition of fun? I’d like to take it into consideration.”

He didn’t answer her, but he poured himself another glass of wine - another way he could think of to help himself. 

“What about reading books? I may not have as much as you do,” she casually shrugged, “but I have the best ones.” 

“I know your taste in books. Indeed, I’d love to check them out.”

“What about playing chess? Would that do for you?” she suggested. 

He shook his head. He needed something more inducing, something that would be fair for both of them. “What if I say no?”

“Then you will have to propose something else. Like I said, something that will live up to your definition of _fun._ ”

Salva narrowed his eyes clasped his hands. “What about the evaluation of reductionism and holism and figuring out its implications on assessing human behavior? Are you up for another round?”

So, he still hadn’t given up and chose to rise to the challenge that was long overdue.

He looked pleased when he finally came up with something, and she bit her lip and stood up from the table, wiping her mouth clean. She walked over to his side and leaned her palms on the table so the bounteous revelation of her chest was right in front of his face. She then snatched the wine glass from his hand and drank from the same exact spot where he stuck his lips. “The debating hall would be upstairs, Mr…?”

“Salvador Martin,” he finished, sliding his gaze from her face to her chest. 

Raquel pleasantly gave him an accommodating smile, leaning down to press her lips to his ear. “Then you’ll have to follow me, Mr. Salvador Martin,” she whispered, and he let the sharp piercing of arousal take over him.

Tonight, they were no longer holding it back.

⚖️

_“You have to grasp the entirety of the person’s character to get to know them better, right?”_

That was where they left off the other day. Salva pressed his back against the door of her room and agreed with the five extra minutes they gave themselves to get ready. He watched the silhouetted lines of her body in front of the mirror as she brushed her hair, daring himself to move, but he couldn’t. It was like she had him under her spell that he was frozen on his feet.

“Are you ready?” he asked, filling in his pockets with his hands. 

Raquel looked over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. “More than ever.” She walked into the center of the room and faced him, trying not to give in to a laugh upon seeing his bulge in the partition of his pants. 

“You start,” he said as he waited for her to open her pursed lips. 

“Isn’t the point of reductionism dividing a huge element into smaller constituents?” she introduced with such ease and charisma.

Salva nodded. 

“So you have to examine each part little by little and piece them back together,” she recalled as she took slow steps toward him. He braced himself. They stared at each other, sharing the yearning they’ve had since the night that they met at Hanoi.

When her proximity was at enough distance, she reluctantly placed a hand on his shoulder, letting it slide into his chest, stomach, and near the part where he badly wanted it to be. “One of its benefits is that the observer wouldn’t have a hard time taking it in, especially if it’s a _huge_ case. Correct me if I’m wrong, Salva.”

He looked down at her hand that was resting on his hip, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “Sometimes, you’ll have to take it as a _whole_ in order to understand its full mechanism,” he whispered, and the flutter in his stomach intensified.

Their faces joined together in the dark, radiating the aroma of ecstasy that was her breath. He was about to press his lips into hers when she stopped him, trying to swallow a low chortle.

“You still have a crumb on your face,” she said, wiping the side of his mouth with her thumb and lusciously sucking it in her mouth, so hard that even her cheeks hollowed.

He let out an embarrassed laugh. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

She scrunched her face and giggled with him. “Sorry.” 

And the laughter died down, and he wasn’t holding back. 

She wasn’t holding back, either.

Hence, Salva took her in his arms and let the surge of her ecstasy wash him over, parting his lips and fully surrendering under her spell. He pulled her deeper, claiming her mouth, running a luscious tongue on its roof, and carried her weight on the bed. 

Raquel switched their positions and straddled him, taking off his coat and undoing his tie, letting his scent unfurl her senses and silence every rebuttal she could ever think of. It was breathtaking, even better than the one they shared on the rooftop of the courthouse. 

He ran his hands over her torso as he tasted her mouth thoroughly, slipping a strap off her shoulder, and then another. It felt like trespassing a temple, except the goddess was literally suffocating him as she struggled with his tie. He broke off for a while and helped her with it. 

By the time it was off and as her fingers trickled with the buttons of his dress shirt, it was his time to go through the rough patch of taking off her top, since her arms were getting in his way. Luckily, she steadied herself let him slowly lift it off, unveiling the most sacred parts of her temple.

He slid the back of his hand in between her breasts, admiring how much of a goddess she was. Then they went back to their trade with their mouths, lending every piece of gold they could find for each other.

After a while, all of their clothes were stripped off and thrown on the cold floor, and he pushed her down and hovered above her, pressing himself into her heat.

He ran his lips through her jaw then to her neck, feeling as if he was swimming in the bed of lilacs as he smelled her signature scent. She let out a soft sigh, and it replenished his longing for more until it reached his peak.

Before he dove in to suck her breasts, he uttered: “The elements of the system cannot be explained solely by the elements of its parts, Miss Murillo.”

Truly, she couldn’t dig in anything to counter his statement, but he was finally running his tongue on her chest. He treated it like it was the glowing orb in the dark, the light that he wanted to guide him through. She sighed happily and buried her fingers in his back, feeling his muscles tighten. 

He went back up to level her face and kissed her tenderly, nibbling her bottom lip and pressing his hardening member against her.

Salva stopped to catch his breath, seizing her beauty and madness all over. He lowered down his face again to trace a line from her neck to her stomach, then lingered on that very spot. “Besides, being a reductionist makes you an aggressive observer. It implies that a person is not in a reciprocal relationship with the-”

“Oh, won’t you shut up for once?” she huffed, taking his head and shoving it in between her legs. 

_As sweet as justice,_ that was how she tasted like as he explored more of her ocean, proceeding with his whereabouts to capture as much treasure as possible. 

There was not any trickle silence in the air, and he hummed in satisfaction as she tried to push her folds even harder into his face, eager for more.

“I want you,” she said in between moans. 

Salva gladly obliged upon her request, taking both of her hands as he put in a part of his hardening member into her.

“Won’t you apply your holistic principles or you’ll just-” 

Raquel groaned as she grasped his entirety. She loved his weight on him and the euphoria he brought with every pushing and pulling like an unstable gravity fulfilling its scientific aggregations. She was shivering now, still stifling a groan every time he thrust into her. 

“Raquel,” he breathed, giving her lips a peck. “There is more than one possible way of validly explaining the world.”

She just let out a hoarse moan in reply.

“Even further that it is concluded that there exists the subjective truth,” he continued, smiling at every sound she could suffice as an answer.

“No. Single. Trail. Of. Objectivity," he groaned.

Every word was punctuated with a thrust, and he went in and out faster. They were lost in each other’s whimpers and soft smiles and kisses, until they finished together, with her pressing her face into his chest as he wailed with her. 

He collapsed his body over hers, pressing a kiss on top of her head and concealing his face in between her breasts. She hummed, caressing his hair, and beaming into the ceiling. 

“In conclusion, you cannot formulate a paradigm without assessing which approach you should involve,” Raquel said, breathless. 

“But I won,” Salva decided upon himself, his voice muffled against her skin.

She chuckled. “With what you did, Mister, I definitely won every aspect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Breathe.


End file.
